The Farce
by Yeghishe
Summary: Regency. Alternate Universe. Told in 500 word chapters; Severus Snape flounders through an arranged marriage to a young genius against the backdrop of a rising war and political intrigue. Companion to The Dream.
1. Beginning

**Beginning**

**England, Near Barnsley in South Yorkshire**

**December, 1814**

* * *

Truly, I blame Dumbledore for beginning this mess I am tangled in.

The mess specifically being the fact that I am careening towards a country estate in my second best carriage to finalize my engagement. I, Severus Tobias Snape, war hero, Potions Master, and renowned theoretical potion researcher, was getting married.

I rubbed clammy fingers gently on my temples, already cursing my stupidity. I had made it through the war alive, honored even. All the years I spent spying and teaching incompetent children I had longed for nothing more than a quiet home with a large laboratory, and to be completely and blissfully alone. Now I had a manor, a laboratory and all the silence I could possibly desire and what was I? Desperately lonely. So lonely that I actually went back to Dumbledore and asked about getting my job back just to see people again. It was unspeakably, horrifyingly humbling.

Dumbledore's disastrous answer was two fold. First, he agreed to allow me to come back to Hogwarts, the esteemed College of Magic, to give guest lectures, and second, he encouraged, nay actually demanded, that I seek comfort in matrimony.

I, Severus Snape, get married. The idea was absurd.

The carriage hit a rough patch at that precise moment in my ruminations and I was all but thrown to the ceiling. Indeed, my nose hit it with a satisfying thump and my temper rose to the challenge. Damn country roads.

It was ruthlessly unfair that I would find it necessary to find a partner so late in life, after any youthful softening of my features had long been swept away by the sorrow and misery of war and my own youthful dreams had been abandoned. It certainly didn't help that, despite my recently acquired fortune and fame, I was still ugly and lacking in gentlemanly manners. A gutter brat dressed in expensive robes is still a gutter brat, after all.

The girl was a problem, as well. Mind, I had not yet had the pleasure of inflicting my presence upon her, but she was nearly fifteen years my junior and at thirty-seven, I didn't think this was something to boast about. The whole situation was reduced to a farce, and I was playing the fool.

There were others who had married later in life; indeed, it was something often sought by men of my age after they had enjoyed themselves. But I could not help but pity such a young girl being attached to me. My thoughts tangled, maudlin.

I fingered the wand that was always in my sleeve. A nervous habit, I suppose, from the war. I didn't care enough to try and break it.

There was nothing to be done but attempt to make the best of the whole debacle. I would see her, I decided, and make my decision. If she appeared unsuitable, I would resign my post, break the engagement and flee like the coward I was back to Spinner's End and the deafening silence.

* * *

_Prompts taken from riceforbreakfast at tumblr called 30 Drabbles 15 Days Challenge, with additional prompts at the whim of the author. Chapter titles will be prompts.  
I am pleased to announce I am doubly blessed: I have captured myself two wild beta readers. Everyone please welcome renaid (for the grammars) and orlandoswitch (for the plot bouncings; I swear that my mind is being read).  
Edited for spelling on March 10th, 2013.  
Edited for grammar on March 13th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who frees me from obligations to missing commas]._

___This is a companion piece to The Dream which tells Hermione Granger's side of this little tale._


	2. Accusation

**Accusation**

* * *

_"You're nothing but a bully." Lily's voice cut through the noise._

_I winced and turned, "They started it." I sounded sulky. Perfect. I felt like an idiot._

_Lily was flying down the hallway towards me, her red hair flying like an avenging angel's wings. Never get between a lioness and her mate, I supposed._

_"Look, I don't want to fight," I snapped. "Not with you."_

_Lily stopped like a branch breaking, swaying a few feet from me. "You hate me." A statement._

_"No."_

_"You are a good-for-nothing misbegotten git." She was flushed, rabid with anger. "Hexing James while his back was turned!"_

_I didn't answer; we had been down this road before. Four against one is hardly sporting._

_"Coward." She turned and stomped back towards the staircases, her accusation hanging heavy in the widening space between us._

The floor of the hallway started rolling, pitching like waves, and a sudden jolt woke me. The carriage jerked and then righted itself. I sighed and passed a hand over my eyes, attempting to rub the sleep away.

The thought of Lily brought a twinge of old pain. I hadn't thought of her since the war ended three years prior. I had seen her with James, who I still couldn't stand, and their son. They looked very happy and relieved that the war was finally over. Her son, Harry, had dark hair. I imagined for a moment that he was mine and Lily and I had made it through primary school without the fissures that had separated us. It didn't feel as wonderful and I thought it would; in fact, it felt dirty. I had realized then that chapter had closed forever. I couldn't even blame her for what had happened at school. Indeed, ending our friendship was probably the best thing for her socially. Never mind me; I would go on as I always had.

Even after, well, everything, I was glad. Glad that she had survived, that her son had his parents, and that there were some of us in England that were happy and whole.

It had once been said to me that the best way to get revenge on those that bullied you was to go on to live a happy and successful life. It became more and more obvious with each passing year I devoted to mindlessly slogging after The- Cause- of- Light- and- All- That- is- Good that whoever had said that had not seen their enemy marry their childhood friend and fight bravely to quell the darkness and become a happy father to boot.

I was not happy and only considered myself marginally successful.

I rooted through my satchel and pulled out my latest notes on the application of Muggle sciences to the art of potion making. Theoretical potions were the drug and drink I turned to ease my mind away from memories and desires that could not be met or eased.

I licked the corner of my lips as I flipped through the stack.

* * *

_So it continues & I have my first review. Thank you.__  
__Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 13th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who knows the difference between "muggle" and "Muggle"]._


	3. Restless

**Restless**

**************England, Granger House near Barnsley in South Yorkshire**

* * *

She stood a little beyond her uncle, riotous curls struggling against the pins that attempted to curb them into submission. She was lovely; perhaps she would come up to my shoulder if I stood next to her.

Her Muggle uncle was saying something, oblivious to my gob-smacked ogling.

"Master Snape, may I introduce my niece, Miss Hermione Granger."

"Charmed," I barked, bowing a little stiffly as blood hadn't quite made it back into my legs. I pulled my leather glove off and reached out for her hand. I was gratified that she stepped forward without hesitation and met me halfway, sinking into a low curtsy.

"Master Snape, welcome." Her voice was slightly husky and her small delicate hand was warm in my larger cold one. "Please, sit." She invited, looking up at me with large brown eyes through her lashes.

I practically collapsed into the chair she motioned to, the ache in my bones thrumming against the crackling heat from the fire.

She turned halfway from me and bent over the tea tray laden with delicate blue and white china and an array of tempting treats. "Sir?" She held my cup gently, cradled in both hands like a ritual offering.

"Cream and sugar, lots of it, please." My voice was harsh against the gentle domesticity of the tastefully decorated parlor.

She blinked and the corner of her mouth quirked a bit. Perhaps she had pegged me as man not given to excess. She would be wrong. After the poverty of my youth and the bleakness of my adulthood, I had developed a hedonistic streak a league wide. Any sermonizing vicar would find fault in my overindulgences.

The cream was pored and she slipped three sugar cubes into the steaming cup and placed two more gently on the saucer with a slight smile. The china left her fingers gently and bobbed slowly over to me as she turned to prepare her uncle's cup. Clever wandless magic, natural and not flashy; I approved.

"Chocolate biscuit?"

I nodded and accepted the floating treat.

Her uncle attempted to draw me into conversations about the conversion of the galleon to the pound and what new opportunities Muggles had in the Parliament of Magic, but I watched Hermione as she sipped her tea and looked out of the window at the frozen landscape before her attention flickered nervously back to me. She was trying to study me, but I realized my staring made it impossible.

I wished her uncle would abandon his useless prattling, but I kept my vitriolic tongue in check. Insults to her family would win no favors from a lady.

Her fingers fidgeted restlessly on the handle of the delicate cup and over the spine of a thick book resting on the table next to her. The spine was angled away from me and I could not see the title. Her fingers were long and elegant, and, even though it was obvious she had scrubbed them thoroughly, covered in ink stains.

* * *

_You may notice my love of the ; and the ,. Indeed, I apologize to the English language, and to you, gentle reader.__  
__Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 13th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who is delighted]._


	4. Winter

**Winter**

* * *

A country gentleman's winter table consisted of a mouthwatering array of dishes, rich with cream and spice. I wondered if Mr. Granger thought I needed to be impressed. I certainly didn't dress a table as finely as this for a Tuesday dinner. If I were honest I would confess that I often forgot to eat, wrapping myself in the protective void of research and designing lectures for the misbegotten youth of Hogwarts College.

Mrs. Granger was tittering at me like a plump songbird, plying me with questions about the fashions in London and the balls and assemblies offered there.

I regretted loosing my temper in hindsight, but I could not take more than two bites together without being interrupted.

"Madam, I regret that I am neither a milliner or a dressmaker and know little of such things," I snapped.

She stopped speaking with an undignified gurgle.

"Are you often in London, sir?" one of the young female cousins of Hermione asked. Elizabeth, perhaps, or was it Imogen?

"No." But I attempted to soften my address to atone for my harshness. I was not given to many words but this was not a time of war. I no longer needed to guard my every utterance or restrain my thoughts. "No," I said, softer this time. "I divide my time between my estate and the Hogwarts College of Magic; I am rarely in London."

I chanced a glance at Hermione as I sipped the dark spicy red wine that rested in an elegant glass at my left hand. She licked her lips and her eyes flickered away from me, skittering over the serving dishes of rich beef and roasted winter roots. Had I disgusted her already?

"You set a very fine table," I ventured, seeking Mrs. Grangers face.

She smiled then and twittered. I was restored to her good graces with a sigh of relief.

"And the war? You fought in the war?" The youngest cousin, a boy, asked. He was barely old enough to be allowed at the table, and he was immune to the collective gasp that went around the table.

The war and its effects were like a mark upon me. I could never be free of the taint of it, and yet everyone pretended not to notice even as I was bent double from the weight of it.

"Thomas," Mr. Granger's voice sounded in warning from the head of the table.

I turned the full strength of my stare at the boy. "Are you learning about the war in school?" I prodded.

He nodded.

"And what have you learned?" I meant it as a general question but Thomas interpreted it on a more personal level.

"You were a spy. You defeated the Dark Lord by spying on him. You are a hero!" He was so very young and earnest.

I didn't feel like a hero, not even in the exultant moments after the last confrontation when the world began to shine again with promise like a landscape shrouded in delicate pristine snow.

* * *

_I feel bolder about where this journey is taking us.__  
__Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 14th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who is dignified]._


	5. Wind

**Wind**

* * *

The wind had turned wild after our dinner, whipping and blowing around the dormers and rattling the windows in their frame, howling as though its heart was breaking.

Mr. Granger drew me into the study to enjoy a glass of after dinner port. I settled myself with a groan and creak of my joints into a chair near the fire. I accepted the small glass of ruby liquid with, what I hoped was, a carefully concealed grimace. I stretched my booted feet towards the merry fire.

"We are most pleased to have your offer for my niece."

I hummed. His lack of tact did not surprise me, but I suspected he had an end in mind for this conversation.

"She has not had much luck with the young men. I blame that school of hers, giving young women ideas above their natural place." Mr. Granger continued speaking, heedless of my inattention, nodding to himself and tapping fingers, still greasy from dinner, on his waistcoat.

"Where did Miss Granger attend school?" I surprised myself.

Mr. Granger tutted. I was beginning to suspect that he did not think much of magic.

"Gryffindor-on-the-Grange."

I smiled in spite of myself: Minerva McGonagall. Well that explained something of how poor Miss Granger had been chosen as my prospective partner.

My normal routine would have had me in my library, I lamented.

A light knock at the door drew my attention from the crystal etching of the port glass.

"Master Snape's room is prepared." Hermione leaned into the room around the doorframe, a frown gathering her brow.

I leapt to my feet, though every muscle screamed, and discarded my full glass on the side table. My quota of politeness had been quite exhausted for the day.

"Excellent, lead the way." I nodded to Mr. Granger and swept from the room, conscious of the lack of proper billow that resulted from wearing the Muggle waistcoat and overcoat.

In the hall Miss Granger looked up at me for the briefest of moments before dropping into a graceful curtsy. I wondered if she were mocking me. Nothing in her solemn expression gave away her inner thoughts.

I offered my arm and she accepted. It occurred to me that I didn't know anything about her interests or hobbies. I cast about wildly for something to say or ask but settled for a sulky silence, disappointed in myself.

She led me through the house and up the wide stairs into the family wing.

Her soft voice broke the silence between the soft tread of our feet on the rugs. "I apologize for Thomas; he is a high spirited boy and doesn't fully understand proper decorum."

A nice way of saying he had as much tact as a Hungarian Horntail in an apothecary shop.

"Children should be left as innocent as possible for as long as possible, Miss Granger. He will have plenty of time to explore society's manifold limitations." I realized I was speaking as much to myself as to her.

* * *

_I hope Severus can continue to keep his temper shuttered in behind those dark eyes._

"_I don't envy the one who gets the Horntail. Vicious thing. Its back end's as dangerous as its front." — Charlie Weasley_

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 14th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who keeps me honest regarding semicolons]._


	6. Diamond

**Diamond**

* * *

The linen fabric tangled around my fingers in my haste – a cravat from hell. I never cursed anyone more roundly than Beau Brummell at that moment. The sound of the floo activating was the only warning I received before a jovial voice called across my bedchamber.

"Good morning, Severus."

Albus.

My already frightful morning plummeted to new depths.

"_If_ you don't mind," I snapped, abandoning my cravat to scramble for my waistcoat to cover my scrawny silhouette outlined in shirtsleeves.

"How goes your courtship of Miss Granger?" Albus waggled his beard.

A button came off in my hand in my rough, fumbling hands and I tossed the missile. My aim was true, and I hit the old codger right between the eyes.

He blinked.

"Well, I've managed in one short day to overwhelm her by my dashing good looks, amuse her with my refined conversation, and overcome her with my gentle breeding and manners. You meddlesome coot—the girl can barely stand to be in the same room with me." What did he expect? I had never been one to excel at relationships.

Albus blinked away my outburst like the ebony button glittering like a diamond on the hearth. "How was the drive?"

"I was gammoned into thinking it was a good idea. I'm ridding myself of all the carriages at Spinner's End as soon as I make it back." I attempted to pull my hair off of my shoulders and into a passible queue. "Horses too. I'll be damned before I ever use Muggle travel methods again."

The old blighter had the audacity to smile at me and twinkle just a bit.

"Out. Get out. I'm quite busy," I snarled and turned away to sulk by the mirror around the corner from the floo where his beady little blue eyes couldn't observe my miserable attempts at dressing. I turned my attention back to the thrice-damned cravat. A few minutes of blessed silence passed before the floo crackled as someone stepped through.

"I am warning you, Albus, get out of my chambers before you are soundly hexed. I am attempting to garrote myself with a neck cloth at the moment." I kept my attention on the offending twist of fabric.

A bark of laugher caught me off guard. "Uncle Severus, you are in a worse way than Headmaster let on."

I conceded defeat and turned to glare at my unwelcome guest. "Draco." I hoped my sour expression would send him scrambling for the floo.

"Uncle."

Obviously I was losing my touch. "Well fine, tie this thing for me and get out so I can block the floo. You aren't welcome here."

Brushing silver-blond hair back with a careless hand, my godson crossed to commandeer my limp cravat. "Haven't you read _Neckclothitania_? You are frightfully behind the times, Uncle."

"Keep your cheek," I muttered.

"La, is there no starch in this?"

I contemplated strangling Draco with his perfectly starched and tied cravat in the Oriental style. The dandy little wretch.

* * *

_The Neckclothitania is an actual book published in 1818 detailing different ways to tie a complicated and appropriate cravat. Beau Brummell is an iconic figure of male Regency fashion, especially the elaborately tied cravat.__  
__Edited for grammar & capitalization on March 14th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who understands the danger of a cravat]._


	7. Snowflake

**Snowflake**

* * *

Hermione scampered up the garden path, head thrown back, curls shedding pins as she came. Her bonnet and muff had been left somewhere down the path, discarded like the non-essentials that they were in this race against her young cousin. Thomas made it to the steps of the veranda first, knocking the snow off of the banister with an excited cheer.

"I win!" He turned his hooded head to look straight at me. "Master Snape, we are going to cut greenery for the parlor. Won't you come with us?"

I looked towards Hermione, who was now attempting to gather her dignity between deep breaths. "It is our Muggle tradition to decorate for the Christmas holidays. Will you be spending the Solstice and Yule with us?"

I calculated two weeks until the solstice on the twenty-first. Two weeks I could give myself to attempt to bring clarity to this farce.

"Indeed." An answer to both questions.

Hermione motioned across the expanse of the snow-veiled garden to a wooded folly on the far side. "We cultivate holly just for this purpose. Thomas, run and fetch the girls."

I offered my arm again. It was quickly becoming a habit to ensure proximity. She accepted, laying a delicate hand on my black overcoat. As she led me through the formal paths, she reclaimed pieces of her outer garments: a bright scarlet mitten on a hedge, a russet fur trimmed bonnet on a rosebush.

"Mr. Granger tells me that you attended Gryffindor-on-the-Grange." I ventured.

"Yes."

But I knew something about education and would not be dissuaded. "What were your subjects of choice?"

"Transfiguration, History of Magic, and… Potions." The last was almost whispered. Was she embarrassed? I couldn't determine and her face was angled away from me.

At least she didn't speak about wispy, unscientific and inaccurate school of Divination. That would be unconscionable and Fate's amused curse at my expense.

We entered the wood, our feet crunching on the fresh snow that gave way to a lighter dusting in the shadows. The deepness of the wood muffled the world around us, and the clearing she led me too smelled rich with pine and glowed with the jeweled red of holly berries clustered on bushes.

I fingered my wand in my sleeve and searched the shadows out of long practice born from long years of war. She stepped way from me, drawing her own wand and eyeing the bushy pine before her with a practiced eye.

I could hear the excited babble of her flock of cousins as they bore down upon the wood as I followed her so closely that I could have embraced her by simply extending my arms.

It had begun to snow again, a few fluffy crystals making their way into the half-light of our sanctuary.

She turned towards me with a smile that faltered as she realized how near I was. I gazed down at her in awe of the perfect snowflake caught in the dark sweep of her lashes.

* * *

_Poor Severus; besotted and he doesn't even know it yet.__  
__Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 14th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who is professional]._


	8. Haze

**Haze**

* * *

I slipped into the apothecary shop called the Fantasticus Flobberworm. The town located near the Granger estate was nothing if not rustic, but as I poked my beak through the shelves I was pleased to see that quality, not quantity, was the order of the tidy shop.

A familiar voice at the counter brought me out of my calculation of how many snowberries were necessary for my next round of experiments.

"Mr. Weasley, I insist that you leave this establishment if you are not here make a purchase. Miss Romilda will return soon." Her voice sounded in exasperation.

"Hermione just listen; it's not too late for us. Just call off the engagement."

I peaked around the shelves to observe a young man with bright orange hair leaning earnestly across the counter towards a flustered Hermione.

"Call off the engagement?" Hermione edged backwards. "Mr. Weasley, how dare you suggest—"

"You called me Ron once; you can do so again."

"No, I cannot. We were friends, Mr. Weasley, _childhood _friends, and as much as much as I treasure your family, especially Ginevra, we can no longer be more than acquaintances."

"But Hermione—," the man started.

"Excuse me, can you tell me about this boomslang skin?" I shouldered my way around the amorous fool. I turned the full force of my sneer on him, "I _am_ sorry. You seemed quite finished."

"This conversation isn't over, Hermione."

"I believe you meant to address her as Miss Granger." I looked down my nose at him.

The man was turning scarlet and sputtering. "Just who do you think you are?"

"So sorry to have forgotten the _formalities_. I am Severus Snape, Miss Granger's _intended_, you moronic dunderhead. I _expect_ you to treat her with the utmost courtesy or suffer my… displeasure." I was practically looming over the sod. "If you must breathe, please do it elsewhere." I dropped my voice to a hissing whisper, "Your breath is as repulsive as your manners."

Mr. Weasley seemed to blink through the haze of my insults and began losing color so that his multitude of freckles seemed to stand out across his cheeks.

"You are dismissed." Like the crack of a whip, my voice spurred the man to action. Tripping over his own feet, he left the shop as though pursued.

I glanced at Hermione. She stared at me in a mixture of fascination and confusion. "The boomslang skin, Miss Granger?" I prompted, motioning to glass counter case that held the most rare ingredients.

"Our boomslang skin is harvested naturally shed from the finest Boomslang snakes. We carry both the green and brown varieties. It is most commonly used in the Polyjuice Potion as a catalyst for shedding the old body and taking on a new one," she recited in a daze.

"I see you have read _Advanced Potion Making_ by Libatius Borage." I had been teaching out of that textbook for more years than I cared to remember but even I couldn't recite it verbatim.

* * *

_I realize that some of the changes I have made while mucking about hopelessly with canon may be a little hard to follow, but I hope to bring more clarity as the story progresses.  
I also realize that The Burrow is in Devon not South Yorkshire. Forgive me._  
_On another note, I am overwhelmed with the follows, favorites, and most of all the reviews. I have received a fantastic response and am thankful for your support!_

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 14th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who wishes Ron had soiled himself]._


	9. Tremble

**Tremble**

* * *

I handed Hermione up into the carriage, pleased that despite my complaints to Albus, I had ridden into town.

"Would you like to tell me about your job, Miss Granger?" I rubbed my forefinger over my bottom lip as I watched her fidget in the seat across from me. Normally I enjoy making people squirm under my stare, but I found her nervousness unrewarding.

"Well, I…" She faltered, her eyes sliding over my face to stare steadfastly at my cravat.

But my curiosity was aroused and I would not be dissuaded.

Raising an eyebrow I goaded, "_Do_ continue."

"My school friend, Romilda Vane, is seeing a… a young man… in London."

I leaned forward and caught her eye. Her face instantly suffused with color. "I fail to see the relevance to your _employment,_ Miss Granger."

She lifted her chin a touch at my tone and I saw annoyance spark in her eyes. "My uncle doesn't know. If that is what you are implying. _Sir._"

Ah, the lioness had claws.

"Every Thursday I tell him I see Romilda for tea. I simply watch the shop for her for a few hours so that she is able to floo to London. You see, it is hardly sordid." Her voice ended with a plea. I found I preferred her annoyance to supplication. It hardly suited her.

"Very clever, Miss Granger."

She opened her mouth ready to argue and snapped it shut. "Did… did you just complement my deception?"

I snickered then. I couldn't help myself. In her confusion she had forgotten to be shy and was regarding me openly with her curious brown eyes.

"Yes. Yes, I suppose I am." I smirked at her. "Now, about Mr. Weasley?"

Instantly a new change passed over her face, a terror of surprising strength.

"Sir, I implore you, we grew up together and went to school together but I promise that his affection is unreturned." She reached forward and clasped my right hand in a gesture of urgency.

I was astonished by her vehemence and felt her tremble.

"Miss Granger! Calm yourself." I began chafing her hands, peeling off her supple gloves to work heat into her icy fingers.

The panic seemed to subside slightly. "My uncle… would be very displeased to know that Mr. Weasley had managed to corner me today." She offered in a low voice, her eyes focused on the point of contact.

"Tell me Miss Granger, did he offer for you?" I asked in an equally subdued tone.

She leaned forward sightly, her face hidden by the graceful sweep of her burgundy bonnet. "I have refused him, again and again."

I realize afresh how little I know about this young woman. I decided to rely on my strengths in this situation, and one of my greatest was research. Hermione was to become my next project to be studied and comprehended thoroughly. After all, what is a potion but a sum of its parts? Was not a human the sum of their actions?

* * *

_Poor Severus doesn't realize that sometimes people are a little more complicated than just a sum total of their actions. _

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 14th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who understands the value of research]._


	10. Thanks

**Thanks**

**England, Gryffindor-on-the-Grange near Keswick in Cumbria**

* * *

I accepted the steaming teacup with a nod, "Minerva." I took a sip: ah yes, sweet enough to rot my yellowing teeth. I sighed in contentment.

"Now, Severus, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Minerva folded her hands on her tartan-covered chest and gave me a piercing look.

"Forthright as always. Can't a body just come to call on an old school friend?"

Minerva snorted. "I can count the number of times you've come to see me on one hand and you've always wanted something."

I could see that delicacy would be wasted. "I want to know about Hermione Granger." If that wasn't blunt enough for her, nothing would be.

I watched a faint blush cross her face. "What did you want to know?"

"She told me her subjects of choice. Transfiguration smacks of your influence, but she mentioned potions and my curiosity was peaked."

A frown wrinkled her forehead. "Severus, why are you not asking Hermione herself about her studies?"

I sighed, "I'm _researching_ Minerva. I don't expect you to understand."

She rolled her eyes. "You always were a swot."

I fought the urge to stick my tongue out at her like a child. "Tactful as always Minerva; you always know just what to say."

Minerva crossed to the large desk that dominated her office and rang a small golden bell. A dark haired girl peeked around the archway. "You rang Headmistress?"

"Miss Spinnet, please go fetch copies of Miss Hermione Granger's coursework."

The girl nodded and disappeared.

Veritable mountains of parchments were laid out before me, sorted by class and year. I turned in astonishment to Minerva. "This _is _a primary school, correct?"

"You will find that Miss Granger is an exceptional student."

I started on the closest stack containing assignments that posed complex theoretical transfiguration questions pulling from a plethora of sources, all carefully footnoted. "Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration? Transfiguration Myths and Substance? Elegant Transfigurations? Trasfiguración y Metamorfosis? Minerva, these are university textbooks she is citing." I scrambled for the stack of potions assignments. The title of the first one arrested my attention: _A Response to Professor Snape's Theory of Alchemical Spagyrics and the Fermentation Process_. Among her footnotes were no less than six of my books, two advanced potions texts, Principia Discordiæ, Al-Ghazali's Kimiya-yi Sa'ādat, and Paracelsus's definitive work, Liber Paragranum.

I had been reading her carefully crafted challenge to my work for a full twenty minutes before Minerva caught my attention. "You really had no idea?" She looked truly taken aback. "I would have thought she would have jumped at the chance to debate your field with you."

I rapidly tapped the stacks of classwork with my wand, copying and color coding the pages. "You have been most informative, Minerva. Thank you for your time."

"Thanks from you, Severus? I must have provided you with something worth more than gold." She watched me furiously gathering the papers. I rolled my eyes. "You always were over-dramatic in college; you haven't changed at all."

* * *

_Why that's absurd! [S. Snape, A Very Potter Sequel]_

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 14th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who is laughing]._


	11. Silver

**Silver**

**********England, Granger House near Barnsley in South Yorkshire**

* * *

I found her her in the second parlor wrapping sprigs of greenery in red ribbon and affixing them to every available surface with her wand.

"Did you have a pleasant day, Master Snape?" she asked quietly.

I sat near her with a flick of my black wool coattails. "I did."

"Tea?"

"Please." I watched her graceful motions. "I visited Minerva today." Her hand froze, a sugar cube clasped in delicate tongs.

"Ah… is she… well?" The cube dropped into the cup with a small splash, but when she turned toward me her face was serene.

"Very. Then I flooed to London." I sipped the fragrant cup. She had added just the right amount of sugar, observant of her.

I could see that her curiosity was peaked; she searched my face as though deciding whether or not to ask straight out. "On business? I hope it wasn't any bad news."

She ceased to decorate the parlor and sat facing me, all of her attention directed towards our conversation. It was rather heady and pleasant to be the subject of Hermione's solemn attention.

"Mostly pleasure. I brought you something." I took another sip and watched her closely. Her face flushed slightly and she set her teacup down swiftly. "You brought me a… a present?" Her eyes sparkled and she clasped her ink-covered fingers together in her lap.

With a flick of my wand I summoned the package from the little table where I had laid it upon entering. I had wrapped it in a soft coral shawl embroidered with flowers that instantly reminded me of her blush when I saw it in the shop window, but the real prize lay inside. Alchemical Corpus, freshly published and just printed. If I had any reservations before giving her the gift, they were instantly wiped away by her happy gasp as she lovingly stroked the crimson leather of the cover, tracing the delicate silver of the embossed title.

It was as if I faded from view as she opened the cover and eagerly devoured the pages like a starving woman. I sipped my tea and watched her consume the book for a full fifteen minutes until the clock in the hall chimed the hour. She startled and blinked at me.

"I am so sorry, Master Snape. I tend to become absorbed when I read."

I smiled vaguely, "I noticed."

She fiddled with the delicate edge of the shawl. "I am sorry for my rudeness."

I dismissed her apology with a flick of my fingers. "Finish it. I am interested in your opinion on the application of jarren root in the more complex regeneration potions in chapter seven."

Her brow furrowed, "But jarren root is highly toxic…"

"There you are, Hermione; your aunt is looking for you." Mr. Granger's voice sounded from the doorway. "Was she boring you with those books of hers?" he guffawed as Hermione's face flamed.

I began to speak but she was already rushing from the room.

"Damn."

* * *

_The study of the Greek alchemists is not very encouraging. An even surface examination of the Greek texts shows that a very small part only was organized according to true experiments of laboratory: even the supposedly technical writings, in the state where we find them today, are unintelligible nonsense which refuses any interpretation. [Historian Paul Kraus]_

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 14th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who understands that there is a time to hex & a time to refrain from hexing]._


	12. Flame

**Flame**

* * *

Her hair was a halo of curls, escaping pins fell with every furious shake of her head. Her eyes lit like twin flames.

"But I _always_ go to the Weasley's home for the solstice celebration." Her voice took on a strident quality.

I could see her uncle's frown from my position just inside the parlor door.

"Hermione, be reasonable; it's hardly appropriate under the circumstances." Her aunt attempted to soothe.

Hermione tossed her head, "Master Snape is invited as well. There is no question of propriety. The Weasley family are good and old friends, and they would be yours as well, if you would allow them."

I could see her desperation mounting. "Are you speaking of Sir Arthur Weasley?" I cut in, striding across the room. Hermione wilted before my eyes. "Is his estate is nearby?"

"Just down the lane," her uncle supplied.

I took gentle possession of Hermione's elbow and drew her to the couch with me. Though we sat at opposite ends, I could feel her presence like a warmth. She wrapped my shawl closer around her shoulders like an apricot-colored shield and passed me a parchment with lowered eyes.

It was an elegant invitation for December twenty-first for an evening of dancing and merriment, addressed to the Granger family and myself.

"Excellent. I haven't seen Sir Weasley for at least a year." I returned the sheet to Hermione and turned a challenging look on Mr. Granger. "We fought side by side in the last battle."

He raised an eyebrow. "I had no idea that Weasley was involved in the skirmishes."

Hermione pursed her lips. "According to the histories, he was instrumental in banishing the Dark Lord to the Isle of Elba." And she would know.

"But he isn't a soldier; he's a clerk." Mr. Granger scoffed.

I pretended to examine my nails. "Obtaining an island requires _paperwork_ Mr. Granger. The Dark Lord didn't _inherit_ it." I sneered just a little behind the curtain of my hair. "Besides, he was in Westminster when the final attack began. Everyone joined the fight. The Muggle janitor helped, for Merlin's sake."

Mr. Granger blinked.

"Would you like a glass of wine, Master Snape?" Mrs. Granger smiled at me with a slightly vacant expression.

Mr. Granger crossed to the liquor shelf, breaking the awkward tension that had settled around us.

I realized that their ignorance was self-inflicted, the pitiable dunderheads. All Mr. Granger's fine words about the Wizard Parliament and the House of Lords were careful parroted opinions that he couldn't grasp or reason through himself.

"Will you accompany me to the Weasley's for the solstice Master Snape?" Hermione asked softly, pressing the full wineglass Mr. Granger handed her into my hand.

I met her gaze as our fingers brushed, "It would be my pleasure." I realized my response wasn't quite the falsehood that I had anticipated it to be.

The wide smile she gave me in return was like a warm shaft of light across my face.

* * *

_The Isle of Elba is located off of the shore of Tuscany, Italy in the Mediterranean._

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 14th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who appreciates imagery]._


	13. Denial

**Denial**

**England, London**

* * *

Denial won't help you old man," my godson sneered over his forkful of lunch.

"Stop making that face, Draco; you look constipated." I took another bite of my own lunch. I glanced at the door to the private parlor as I fingered my wand. Old habits were actually becoming practical again. I had warded everything. "You are sure you heard correctly?"

Draco made another rude face, "There is no mistake. I should have brought my pensive."

I rolled my eyes, "The dramatics aren't helping."

Draco lowered his voice as he leaned across the table, "I know what I heard; my father is traveling to Pisa tomorrow. It's a good base of operations but not close enough to Elba to really draw too much attention. It was a mistake on the part of parliament to allow the Dark Lord to keep a personal guard."

I agreed completely; however, "They allowed him to keep his personal title of emperor and gave him sovereignty of the island, too. I didn't have a sway in it. The Dark Lord will never be content with a drop of land measuring less then 225 kilometers squared."

The wine helped the parched feeling in my throat, but I recognized the old familiar feeling of dread.

"There have been rumors in the House of Lords…" Draco took a sip of the white wine. "You wouldn't hear because you've cut yourself off, but there is a chance that the Wizengamot may rule to remove him to a more remote island in the Atlantic."

I nodded, pushing my plate away, my appetite waning. "Fudge will put up a fuss."

"Marchbanks will push for it. The old bird has a bit of sense in her, after all."

My eyes wandered over the shabby table and to the narrow window that looked out over the dimness of Knockturn Alley. "But why all the secrecy about our meeting, Draco?"

He actually looked a touch embarrassed, "Well… I wasn't sure what you would do… if you knew."

I raised an eyebrow. "Explain," I barked.

"Well you've got a girl to court, but my father may demand your help. He still thinks you just played your cards right."

I let my breath out in a small huff. "He doesn't believe I turned sides, eh?"

"The Dark Lord may be harder to convince, but… you could go to Pisa. You know… ingratiate yourself. As if you thought he might come back with true strength."

I turned the knife by my plate over and over, listening to its clink on the wood of the tabletop. "And you, Draco?"

"I made my choice," his eyes were hard. "I'll stand by England."

I smiled then, proud. After all Lucius's attempts, he had failed to turn Draco away from his mother country. "I am glad. Draco… if I ever have a son… I hope he will hold to his convictions as you do."

I was surprised to see a blush spread across his pale cheekbones.

"As for _my _loyalty. It is unchanged."

* * *

_Although in canon the Wizengamot seems to function both as a court and a parliament, I have separated them. Wizengamot is only the high court._

___________Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 15th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid,_ who needs neither to integrate nor ingractiate].


	14. Outside

**Outside**

**********England, Granger House near Barnsley in South Yorkshire**

* * *

_The carriage crawled at an agonizingly, slow pace. I was beginning to panic, gasping. I could not find her and I must, I must. The coach stopped and I knew I was near. Throwing open the door, I thrust myself into the outside world. All I could see were the snowflakes falling thick and fast. I stumbled, gathering my teaching robes around me as I floundered in the knee-deep snow. I pushed forward blindly, straining to see more than a few feet in front of me. After what seemed like an eternity, I could make out a form, blurred but dark against the endless white. Its edges developed and strengthened and I could make out Hermione struggling towards me in nothing but an evening gown. I gathered her in my arms, rubbing her bare shoulders and wrapping her in my cloak. _

_"I'm so glad you are here Severus; I've been so afraid." She was shivering and her teeth chattered. _

_I stumbled back toward the waiting carriage, my precious cargo clutched to my chest. No matter how many steps I took, I never seemed to gain on the carriage until suddenly it loomed in front of me. I began to loose my grip on Hermione. She seemed to slip through my arms, and I realized in horror that my body was becoming immaterial. I saw her fall into the deep snow as I startled…_

Gasping and floundering, I fought my way out of the bedclothes. I found myself lying sideways on my borrowed bed in the Granger's home. I threw off the coverlet and parted the curtains to step into my dragon hide boots.

I slipped into the hall, still shedding sleep.

I found my way into the library, surprised that there was already a fire lit. I drew near only to find Hermione sprawled across the low couch. She was dressed in her gown from dinner but missing her slippers. She was shivering.

I transfigured a pair of thick woolen socks from a pair of ridiculous doilies that cluttered up the table and averted my eyes as I slipped them on over her delicate ankles.

She stirred slightly and I snatched my hands back as though burned.

"Severus?" Her voice was husky from sleep. "I'm so glad you are back. I was afraid when you left." She smiled a little and reached out for me, like a child for a favored adult, and I found myself gathering her into my arms, echoing my dream. I wrapped my robe around her and settled her against my chest.

I cast a disillusionment charm over us and carried her out of the room and back up the stairs toward her chamber door. She nestled against my shoulder as I nudged the door open and carried her toward the bed. As I covered her with her thick blankets, I glanced at the end table. Stacked neatly, in order of publication, sat all of the Potions Quarterly pamphlets that had my articles in them.

* * *

_Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before. [Edgar Allan Poe]_

___________Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 15th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid,_ who is encompassing].  



	15. Formal

**Formal**

******England, Granger House near Barnsley in South Yorkshire**  
**&**  
**London**

* * *

"Miss Granger, I am meeting Minerva in Diagon Alley; you should accompany me."

It was as if the night before had never happened. I might even have thought I had dreamed the whole event except for the missing doilies in the library. Hermione had returned to formal address and 'Miss Grangers' and 'Master Snapes' insulated us from any lingering feeling of intimacy. Perhaps she didn't even remember.

Hermione went flying to gather her wraps and change from slippers to half boots.

She joined me by the fireplace and seized my arm in a tight grip, bouncing on her toes. "I haven't been to Diagon Alley in years." She was breathless and practically vibrating with excitement. She tipped her head back to smile up at me, and I was arrested by her loveliness.

Minerva met us on the corner across from Rosa Lee Teabag. As we sipped our tea and nibbled on sweet cakes, Minerva chattered about the happenings at Gryffindor-on-the-Grange. Hermione was enthralled with the developments, curriculum and promising students. Though I didn't participate much, Hermione bestowed her smiles upon me liberally.

I glanced out the faceted window and through the snowflakes that lazily fell from the overcast sky. Just inside the darkness of a cross street stood Hephaestus Mulciber, meeting my gaze. He motioned once with a dark, smoking pipe and then turned away, tilting his dark top hat against the wind.

I excused myself hastily and tramped out to where he stood, drawing him further into the shadows. "Mulciber."

"Snape."

I arched a brow. "I assume you have a good reason to interrupt my tea."

"His Lordship wants what's his." His voice was gravely from years of smoking.

I smiled unpleasantly, baring too many crooked teeth. "I've amassed a fortune for him."

"He is aware." Mulciber knocked out the pipe and began repacking it, shielding the bowl from the wind with his body.

"Send him word. I am being watched. It will take me another month and a half to divert suspicion and gather the money." I passed a cool finger over my bottom lip.

Mulciber growled, "The Dark Lord is not a patient man but you are in luck. He is planning on making his move mid February."

"Where should I await His Eminence?"

"Golfe-Juan."

I nodded, glancing around the street suspiciously.

"Lord Malfoy already attends the Dark Lord," Mulciber's tone accused.

I snorted, "His departure has caused tongues to wag; rumors are flying already about His Lordship."

Mulciber grunted. He may be skilled with the Imperius Curse but a grasp on the delicate art of maneuvering around the knowledge of the public was lost to him.

I surreptitiously fingered the smooth shaft of my wand. "You had better not come to me again."

"I'll mention that to the Dark Lord when we have our next… chat."

I turned away, "I know that he will agree with the precautions I propose."

Mulciber's unpleasantly low gravelly laugh was all the answer I received.

My day was decidedly ruined.

* * *

_"You don't want me as your enemy." [S. Snape]_

_This is officially the halfway point of my current list of prompts; however, this story has taken on a life all its own and I believe it will be longer than I initially intended. Thank you to all who have read, reviewed (many very faithful reviewers), followed & favorite-d._

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 15th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, whose plot has thickened]._


	16. Companion

**Companion**

* * *

I held her close to me, my large gloved hand covering her tiny one. Our boots crunched against the drifting snow but the wind had gentled. Minerva walked on her other side, still talking about the school. I rolled my eyes and tuned Minerva out completely, focusing on the shadows and side streets, vigilant for others sent to communicate my former master's demands. I could feel Hermione's solemn honey colored eyes on my face.

"Flourish and Blotts, Obscurus Books, or Whizz Hard Books?" Hermione asked quietly, her face turned up towards me.

"Flourish and Blotts, of course; they will have all the books I need ordered for the classroom," Minerva answered firmly.

I shot Minerva a scathing look but she was already a few steps ahead of us, the bedraggled tail feathers of the dead partridge affixed to her hat bobbing as she strode toward the shop door. The tiny bell tinkled as she barged inside.

Hermione slowed and leaned against my arm. I looked down at her but my question died on my lips as I caught sight of her wide eyes, shining with tears.

"Master Snape," she breathed. Some of her curls had escaped her bonnet and danced around her flushed cheeks.

"Miss Granger, are you ill?" I asked concernedly, turning towards her. She really was very petite, tipping her head back to meet my eyes.

She shook her head. "I am perfectly alright, but sir…have I offended you?"

"Of course not." I began to move again. "I saw an old acquaintance; they had certain… unpleasant gossip." I attempted to smile but it probably appeared as a spiteful grimace.

I held the door for her and she ducked her head in thanks as she entered. I doubted that I had truly eased her mind, but I was at a loss to explain the delicate knife-edge I now walked. Any divergence could result in fatal consequences for England and myself. I gave Albus another day before I expected him to appear and make his own demands of me.

Turning back to the window, leaning slightly against the frame, I observed the street, my eyes sweeping, searching faces and penetrating shadows.

Satisfied I trailed Hermione through the shelves at a respectful distance, observing the books she chose to open reverently and then gently replace on the stuffed shelves. Her brow wrinkled in concentration as she poured over a large tome of advanced Arithmancy equations. Her right hand twitching in a motion I recognized as itching for a quill. Hidden partially behind a shelf I observed her lips forming strings of equations between moments of deep thoughts.

In that moment I decided my course of action: first I must maneuver Hermione to a position of safety. Only then could I give myself whole-heartedly to develop tactics defending against this new threat. I could only hope that a month and a half would be long enough to secure her as the companion of my life, however short that might prove to be.

* * *

_If only I could capture Alan Rickman's eyebrows in text. I swear that man doesn't even need to utter a word._

___Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 18th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who is touched]._


	17. Move

**Move**

**********England, Granger House near Barnsley in South Yorkshire**

* * *

I studied the chessboard spread out before me, running through an opening gambit. Would a more aggressive opening or a positional play better serve me? After ten minutes of gazing unseeingly at my opening King's Gambit, two white pawns against a solitary black pawn, I realized I was no longer thinking of chess. I raised my eyes to the window seat across the parlor. Hermione sat, curled in the window buck, half hidden by the heavy drape. An arithmancy text was spread over her lap, and she clutched a quill in her hand. Every few moments she scribbled furiously on a parchment that hovered close beside her. I needed to broach the opening move of my strategy with her soon. I pursed my lips; this shouldn't be this difficult; we were engaged, after all. Marriage was a logical conclusion, damn it.

"Master Snape!" Mr. Granger's voice called from the doorway.

Hermione retreated further behind the curtain.

"Mr. Granger."

"I hope everything is going well in your… ahem… endeavors with Hermione." He strode into the room and seated himself across the board.

I accepted the King's Gambit, taking the white pawn with my black one. "I believe so. If I may broach the subject of setting a date…" I made a move with the King's Bishop Gambit; involving clergy at this point would be best.

Mr. Granger coughed delicately, "Capital, capital."

I hummed and moved a black pawn down the board to stand behind and beside its brother. "I would like to marry as soon as possible, January I think. Early January."

"Well, that is a little soon but…"

A white piece moved to taunt the dark pawn. I raised my eyes to meet Hermione's over her uncle's shoulder. "I would like it to take place quickly; some business is coming that I am afraid will remove me to the continent for a time. I would like to have this settled before I go. If it is agreeable?" My voice sounded in question but my eyes were steadfast on Hermione. It was her that I asked.

She nodded slightly, a smile lighting her whole face. I moved the black bishop into the pawn line in triumph.

"Well certainly, certainly, if you can get a license in time. I am relieved." He paused and them smiled again. "It's hard to marry off a bluestocking, you know."

I watched the happiness fade from Hermione's face slightly as she pulled herself deeper into the shadows.

"That is quite enough," I snapped, standing up. "Your disrespect goes too far. Remind yourself that you are speaking of the woman who will soon be my wife." I leaned forward, "I am not known for my leniency… sir."

Mr. Granger paled slightly, "Just what are you implying sir?"

"I have been known to allow my hand to slip over a man's morning cup of tea for less severe insults." I smiled unpleasantly. "Come, come, Mr. Granger. Be pleased. You seem to have rid yourself of your niece at last."

* * *

_"...my hand might just slip over your morning pumpkin juice." [S. Snape]_

_We have resorted to threats I see. Pity._

___Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 18th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who sees Severus's true colors]._

___Edited for tiny punctuation April 5th, 2013 [via orlandoswitch, who knows the value of a final quotation mark]._


	18. Thousand

**Thousand**

**Scotland, Hogwarts College of Magic near Dufftown in Moray**

* * *

It took Albus two days longer than I anticipated contacting me, calling me back to Hogwarts. Such delicate maneuverings could not take place in a borrowed bedroom on a Muggle estate, after all.

I entered, crossing under the gothic arches deeply lined with clusters of shafts. In the darkness of the deep night, the hollows of the stone work, deep corners and vaulted ceiling were wreathed in almost tangible shadows.

Albus sat at the ornate desk, attempting to dotter and twinkle. "Lemon drop?"

I considered upending the whole tin of the bright lumps of sugar into his lap. "You _needed_ something Albus?" I began cataloging the bookshelves on the right first. Was that a new tome on Arrhythmic Arithmancy? I had found that the only way to keep my sanity while conversing with Albus was to occupy my mind during the preliminary lemon drops and tea with milk.

"How is the courtship, Severus?" Albus sipped his tea delicately.

I rolled my eyes and muttered, "Bloody hell." This was worse than speaking with Mulciber. "You hardly called me all the way back to Scotland to hear about my flirtations."

Albus sobered. "You have heard the rumblings? The beginnings of the dark tide that threatens us?"

"Dramatic as usual." I sneered a bit. "What do you want from me? I paid my debt to you and to England."

Albus frowned at me over his tangled mass of a beard. "I've put up with your temper tantrums long enough, Severus. Be reasonable."

That was quite amusing from someone who regularly lost candy in his beard… for days. "What would you have me do, Albus?"

Albus smiled pleasantly and my skin prickled; such geniality boded ill for my health. "I happen to have a pensieve, Severus. One that a certain spy used to place his memories in, quite damning memories."

I rubbed a hand over my bleary eyes. "Merlin." Bloody buggering fuck. I knew exactly which memories would tip the fickle public opinion against me. I had, of course, already planned my route to Golfe-Juan, but it was always better to let Albus assume he won a march on his pet turncoat.

Attempting to cultivate just the right amount of servitude seasoned with malicious resentment (I fancied myself a bit of an actor after all), I answered in a low voice. "I'll need money, Albus."

Albus poured more tea, with just a hint of gloating. "I knew England could count on you. How much?"

"An amount comparable to my award." I stood and intentionally knocked the delicate gold leafed teacup to the stone floor. It shattered satisfyingly into a thousand pieces. "I need it by the middle of January." I deliberately stepped into the shards, grinding them into a fine dust that no Reparo could mend, ignoring Albus's gasp. The set had been a one of a kind gift from the Prince Regent. "Contact me when you have it in francs."

I turned in a swirl of black cloth and stalked from the office.

* * *

_I can admit it... I'm not a Dumbledore fan. I hope you will forgive me gentle reader.__  
__And, in other news, we have reached 100 reviews. I will be writing a gift story for my hundredth reviewer_ _just as soon as they send me their prompt. Thank you, Pyro1588, and of course, to everyone who has reviewed! _

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 18th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who can hear Albus's mental notes about expensive china and Severus]._


	19. Annual

**Annual**

**England, The Burrow near Barnsley in South Yorkshire**

**December 21st, 1814**

* * *

Hermione smiled and nodded as each Weasley vied for her attention. They fluttered around her like a flock of red birds, little starts and stops of motion, raising their arms and then letting them fall stiffly at their sides. They longed to enfold her into their happiness. Did they refrain because they feared my reaction? Mrs. Weasley fussed over her, forbidding her from offering her help in the kitchen.

"It's just as well," she murmured in an undertone. "I am a hopeless cook." She smiled slightly up at me.

It was obvious that the younger Weasleys resented the way she clung to my arm, but I was not inclined to release her, tightening my hold on the hand that rested lightly on my wool-covered forearm. Was it truly for Hermione's own good that I guarded my claim, or perhaps it was to mitigate my own feeling of exclusion? I refused to follow that line of thinking.

"The Grangers offer their excuses." I shook Arthur Weasley's hand firmly.

He offered a slightly sad smile. "Of course. Master Snape, it is good to see you."

I narrowed my eyes. "Is it?" I murmured, catching sight of a furiously glowering Ronald Weasley over his father's shoulder.

Hermione tugged gently on my arm and offered me a faintly reproving frown as Arthur headed for the Burrow door to admit the next guest. "You shouldn't be so quick to assume offence," she hissed.

I chuckled a bit and she looked surprised. "Indeed, little lioness." I had pulled her closer to me and bent towards her delicate ear. It was the picture of gentle flirtation. I smugly glanced young Mr. Weasley's direction and bared my crooked teeth in silent, exalting challenge.

A slender redheaded girl in a vibrant emerald dress sought to draw Hermione away from me.

"Master Snape, Ginevera Weasley. Ginny, Master Snape." I bowed over her hand.

She smiled up at me a flutter of eyelashes, "So pleased to meet you Master Snape. You won't mind, sir, if I borrow her for a few moments?"

I favored her with my most withering stare. "Actually, Miss Weasley, I find that I cannot be parted from her. Please excuse us."

The hall and two small parlors were crowded and noisy, but the last open door lead into the library-turned-dance floor; the room was still relatively quiet.

"I apologize if Ginny offended you, sir."

I snorted and escorted her to one of the window seats. "I have no desire to be fodder for loose-lipped gossip tonight."

Hermione bit her lip and averted her eyes as she sat, tucked slightly behind the thick drape. Her eyes suddenly widened and she stared in horror at the door. I turned to glimpse what had frightened her. A large floating bunch of mistletoe was ambling across the room towards us. It paused over couples who giggled and shared shy kisses.

She looked up at me, "I had forgotten. It is Fredrick and George's little annual Christmas prank."

* * *

_Never fear gentle reader, the Solstice Celebration merits two chapters._

_On an aside, before you remind me, I am aware that I changed Fred's name. I couldn't help myself; Persuasion was calling.  
__I also realize that The Burrow is in Devon not South Yorkshire. Forgive me._  


_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 18th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who wonders (as do I) what Hermione was thinking about before the mistletoe saunters onto the scene]._


	20. Tender

**Tender**

* * *

I observed the floating monstrosity with interest. It was obvious that the more a couple resisted, the more the mistletoe expected of them. It seemed to shake its white berries in mirth as each couple paid their toll. Crossing the room, it sniffed us out like a hound.

"What a useless piece of magic," I muttered.

Hermione pressed herself further into the alcove as it neared, but it would not be dissuaded and came to rest over her head. I leaned forward, observing the play of emotions across her face as her large brown eyes slipped shut.

As tenderly as I could manage, I pressed a kiss to her right cheek and then her left. Her breathing hitched as I tilted her face upwards with one finger. As the dinner bell sounded, I pressed a light kiss directly onto her soft lips.

I drew her up and placed a hand on her back to guide her across the hall and into the dining room, where we were seated near several redheaded young men.

"Hel-lo." They turned at the same moment to smile at Hermione. Twins, it seemed, from their frighteningly similar faces. "Have you seen it yet?"

Hermione smiled, "Your prank? Yes it was floating about in the library."

I smirked, knowing that they would find the bloody thing a pile of ashes in the alcove.

"Master Snape, these are George and Fredrick Weasley." She motioned to their obnoxiously grinning faces.

"Enchanted."

"Enraptured."

I merely nodded.

"You haven't touched the Yule log this year, have you?" Hermione continued to chatter to them.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt her small left hand slip into my right one, hidden underneath the draping tablecloth. I glanced at her to find her shyly smiling at me.

"Last year they charmed the Yule log to light off fireworks in the parlor."

George peered around her shoulder, "We were the only ones who found it amusing though."

"I shouldn't wonder." I sneered at him.

Ginevera leaned forward, from her seat across from Hermione. "We heard of your engagement. It is the talk of the countryside."

Hermione flushed under her probing gaze. "Indeed. We are to be married very soon."

I followed the young Miss Weasley's gaze to a sullen Ronald sitting within Hermione's line of sight. She fidgeted under his glare. I leaned down to whisper into her ear, "Shall we take refuge in the parlor?"

With a grateful look Hermione rose and smoothed her golden dress with a nervous hand. The parlors were nearly empty now and the Yule log was already burning. A table next to the fire was laden with small velvet bags, ready to receive the ashes. I pressed a warm glass of wassail into Hermione's hands. The rich fragrance of apple and cinnamon curled around us.

"Do they always burn a Yule log?" I asked quietly.

"Yes, it is always pine."

"Hoping for prosperity?" I murmured.

"Not everyone received compensation for the war," she answered gently.

* * *

_"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind." [William Shakespeare from__ A Midsummer Night's Dream__]_

___Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 18th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who enjoys the kisses]._

_______Edited for grammar on August 20th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who is always attentive]._


	21. Solicit

**Solicit**

**England, Spinner's End near Baslow in Derbyshire**

**December 23rd, 1814**

* * *

My butler stood framed in the doorway of my laboratory and calmly announced a visitor. I frowned; no one knew I was in residence; my quick visit to Spinner's End was simply an errand before the celebrations of tomorrow: Christmas Eve.

"Thank you, Austen. I'll receive in my study." I left my concoction under stasis and stepped into the light-filled room that housed my massive desk and a paltry number of my books.

"Severus." I stiffened as a soft voice I hadn't heard in years filled my sanctuary.

My dark eyes met brilliant green. "Lady Potter," I said flatly. "What a surprise."

She tried to smile, smoothing manicured hands over an opulently embroidered dress. "Is it? I've missed you, Severus." She tried to smile again but her discomfort was palatable.

"What is it, Lady Potter? What have you come for?" I stood behind the escritoire, shamelessly reduced to using furniture as a buffer.

She fidgeted, glancing at the chairs I had not invited her to sit in. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

She leaned forward slightly and I realized that the bust of her gown was startlingly low. She made a move to come around the desk but my forbidding look stopped her. Whatever courage she had gathered around herself to come here was fading rapidly.

"Sit down, Lady Potter." I sat in my desk chair. "I'll only repeat myself once: Why are you here?"

She couldn't meet my eyes and I took a moment to study her. Her face was tired and there were dark circles under her eyes. She seemed to have aged ten years since I had last seen her. She bit her lip and I saw a flash of the girl I had known: Lily.

I relented and summoned a tea tray with a sigh and flick of my wand. "Lady Potter?" I murmured, passing her a teacup.

"I've… I've come to ask you… for a favor." She began haltingly. I waited. "James has… made a few unsound investments and…" She took a long sip of tea.

"You want money." My voice was bitterly cold.

She shivered slightly. She set the cup down and touched the edge of her bodice. "I have come prepared to bargain."

I was up from the desk like a shot, staring out of the windows over the snow-covered gardens I hoped to bring my new wife home to in less than a month. "Does Lord Potter know you are here?" I braced myself again the window frame.

I heard her shuddering breath behind me. "Yes." Her voice was small.

I felt physically sick.

"Lily," I whispered. "Don't do this."

"Please," I heard her rise from the chair. "You wanted me once."

A thick, choking sound left my lips and I realized it was supposed to be laughter. "Lady Potter, go home. Tell your husband to stop gambling; do whatever you must, but **do not ever** trespass in my home again. Please show yourself out."

* * *

_Oh, I have an axe to grind with James Potter._

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 18th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who loves commas. Or as she would say (because she's saying it right now), she loves the proper use of commas]._

_Edited for spelling on March 19th, 2013 [via worrywart, sorry it took so long. Thank you!]_

_I am shamelessly using Chatsworth House (the home Pemberley from _Pride and Prejudice_ is thought to be modeled after and the estate used in the 2005 film adaption) as a model for Spinner's End._


	22. Eve

**Eve**

* * *

_I led Hermione through the house, pointing out my favorite rooms and explaining the changes I would be making as soon as possible: she would need a study close to mine and a personal parlor, not to mention my hopes for a nursery. I paused before the master bedchamber door with its suite of rooms, embarrassed. _

_She smiled and, stepping passed me, opened the door herself. _

_People lined my bedroom and filled what I could see of her chamber through the connecting door. Albus was sitting on my bed, and Minerva was looking through my wardrobe and making disapproving noises. Lily stood by the window, dressed in rags, while her husband played cards with Colonel Lupin on my rug. The entire family of Weasleys was playing tag in Hermione's empty bedroom. Draco lifted a large glass of brandy to toast me from my fireside chair._

"_Ye gods!" I roared. "This is a nightmare."_

_Lily started crying. Minerva began tossing my clothing in the burning fireplace while Albus cackled. The Weasleys didn't even look up as Molly chased Percy into the dressing chamber, clucking like a chicken and flapping her apron the whole way._

_Hermione giggled as Albus dangled a cuff and chain at me. _

"_Come, my boy, just give me your life for a few more years. I promise I will let you go when I am done with you." Albus jangled the chain._

"_Sadist," I muttered, tugging Hermione back out into the hallway._

_She smiled up at me. "That was frighteningly surreal. Is that what you really think of them?"_

_I snorted and marched her towards the library. "Nonsense. I don't want to be distracted from you for a moment." _

"_I didn't recognize the boy in the chair."_

_I pressed my hand into the curve of her back. "My godson, Draco." I opened the door to the main library. _

_My portrait hung over the left fireplace. I motioned to the empty wall over the fireplace that dominated the right wall. "For your portrait."_

_She smiled at me and began examining the shelves. "How many…"_

"_I just purchased my ten thousandth book," I said proudly. "And yes, I count duplicates," I said darkly._

"_Different editions?" _

"_Especially editions of Potions Grimoires." I motioned to the massive potions section._

_She twirled in the center of the room, arms outstretched as though to embrace all of the books. "I would give anything to stay here forever. I am so sad this isn't real."_

_I quirked a brow, "Not real? I assure you; I practically built Spinner's End with my own hands." _

_Her musical laugh rang out and echoed off of the vaulted ceiling that stretched two stories above us. _

I woke reaching for her, longing to enfold her in my arms and bury my face in her wild hair.

I staggered to the window and pulled open the curtain looking out over the predawn gardens. I had a few hours to collect myself before Draco would arrive.

"Happy Christmas Eve, Snape," I muttered.

* * *

_A Grimoire is word that comes from the French that means a textbook of sorcery & magic. _

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 18th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who wonders about the dreams]._

_And thanks to orlandoswitch [who knows about portraits]._

_And a question for YOU, gentle reader: Do you prefer Draco/Ginny or Harry/Ginny as a couple? Let me know in your reviews or forever hold your peace. ;]_


	23. Promise

**Promise**

* * *

I held Draco's wrist as firmly as he grasped my own, as two men drowning.

"Will you, Draco, watch over my soon to be wife, Hermione, against all threats while I am away on the continent?"

"I will."

"And will you protect her from harm?"

"I will," his voice did not waver.

"And should it prove necessary, will you protect her with everything you possess: fortune, connections, and property?"

His solemn silver eyes met mine, "With my life, if necessary. I will."

My butler, Austen, finished the binding with a flourish, tucking his wand away with a bow and disappearing through the study door.

"Draco…" I began.

He waved me off, a surprisingly serious expression on his face. "I could do no less for the man who I consider like a father to me."

It was my turn to be speechless.

"So, do I get to see the Lady's bedchamber?" He waggled his pale eyebrows at me.

I glared at him and snarled, "If you speak about **my** wife that way, you will soon find you don't have a life to protect her with."

Draco only rolled his eyes, "So what else have you done for Miss Granger besides bind me to your keeping?"

"You should have felt the wards as you arrived."

"Quite."

"And you know, of course, about the property she is to be taken to if anything goes amiss. Also the money you are to help her retrieve if my assets are seized by the crown."

Draco frowned and fiddled with the stoppers on the crystal whiskey decanters. "Why not go to Dumbledore?"

I laughed bitterly. "You must realize that the less you trust _that _snake, the better. I've given him the best years of my life, my happiness, a large chunk of my flesh and my intelligence. I will be damned before I give him my… Miss Granger."

Draco's face softened and for a moment I could see the young man that he truly was behind the sarcasm and expensive clothing. "You _really_ care for her?"

I didn't answer such a pointless question, opting instead to pull several black velvet jewel cases from the wall safe.

"Draco, lend me your eye."

He came to stand next to the desk. "Are these your family jewels?"

"Draco," I sighed, "I don't _have_ family jewels. I just made my fortune." But it was gently said. "These are for Hermione, and I hope they will become the Snape family jewels. If I live long enough…"

Draco looked momentarily abashed before slapping me on the back and leering suggestively. "I wouldn't worry about that. You will have her in the family way before you know it, Uncle Severus."

"Focus, Draco: jewels. I haven't got all day. I wish to return to Granger House directly after lunch."

He began to go through the assortment of rings, necklaces, bracelets, hair baubles and other jeweled paraphernalia. "La, one might fear she is marrying you for your money."

Just as long as she married _me_.

* * *

_As if Hermione _**_would_**_ marry someone for their money._

_Edited for grammar on March 19th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who knows Draco is a goodhearted fop].__  
__And thanks to orlandoswitch [who knows about safety preparations]._

_Invaluable resource to the historical romance writer & my research: Elena Greene dot com, let us give credit where credit is due. Everything I know about pregnancy and childbirth in this time period I learned from her._


	24. Present

**Present**

******England, Granger House near Barnsley in South Yorkshire**

**********December 25th, 1814**

* * *

My hands were clammy as I arranged and rearranged my passel of gifts for Hermione. I had attempted to gather an array of offerings, but somehow now they seemed like trinkets; even the jewel cases that Draco had selected seemed somehow smaller and the jewelry had lost some of its sparkle. Why had I ever thought she might be interested in my old, battered textbook with its margins all defaced with my spiky writing? Did she even like owls? I glared at the small Megascops petersoni who blinked back unaffectedly with huge, dark eyes. I checked, for the hundredth time, the viscosity of the perfume I had brewed only days before; it was still perfect.

"Master Snape?" A soft voice called to me from across the parlor.

In two strides I had crossed the room to her, barely able to refrain from embracing her.

"Miss Granger."

She beamed, "Happy Christmas." She pressed several brightly wrapped packages into my arms.

I stared down at the bounty. "For me?"

"Open them." She smiled and sat on the edge of the settee, pouring the spiced tea into red and gold teacups.

The first gift was a thick woolen muff, hand knitted from a soft forest green yarn. The second package was a flask of a Travel-Ease potion, used to tend cramping muscles, stiffness and fatigue. The smallest gift was a minute pendent, a snake finely wrought in silver, coiled around a glistening chestnut curl under glass. I met her anxious gaze with a wondrous stare of my own.

"Miss Granger," I breathed, as close to enraptured as I could ever remember being. "Thank you."

She blushed into her tea.

The Megascops began screeching in its cage, ruffling its cinnamon colored feathers and walking up and down its perch.

"You brought your owl back with you?"

"No, I brought _your_ owl. Those packages are for you." I nodded towards the small pile.

Her face lit up. "I haven't received a Christmas gift since… well…" she trailed off.

I glanced toward the twinkling evergreen, covered in shining ornaments and small candles. None of the gifts underneath seemed to bear her name, although her handwriting adorned the tags on the neatly wrapped children's gifts marked from their parents.

"Since when?"

"My parents died just over five years ago," she said quietly, running her fingers over my gifts. She turned to me then and smiled a little sadly. "It was a carriage accident, but neither of them suffered, according to the physician."

I clasped her hand in mine and pulled her down to sit next to me on the couch, tucking her head under my chin. "I am very sorry."

She settled herself against me. "It is quite alright. You have given me a lovely Christmas, regardless."

I smiled, "You haven't even opened your gifts yet. Also, I have arranged for a painter to come next week, for your first sitting for your portrait, and the Modiste from London will be arriving to begin your wedding dress."

* * *

_And now you know what happened to Hermione's parents._

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 20th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who grins in coffee shops]._

_And thanks to orlandoswitch [who knows just what Severus wanted for Christmas]._

_For research into Regency fashion and dress attend rakehell dot com under the features section, labeled _Introduction To Regency Dress_ and wedding details and history (more on that soon) at songsmyth dot com forwardslash weddings. _

_The Megascops petersoni is also called the Cinnamon Screech Owl, native to Ecuador and Peru. Some very adorable pictures can be found online._


	25. Charge

**Charge**

**England, Spinner's End near Baslow in Derbyshire**

**Late December, 1814**

* * *

"My father is a good man!" Green eyes bright with anger glared at me from under an unruly fringe of black hair.

I glanced at Lupin in shock; had the boy not been told? The boy's blind faith fueled a dazzling rage. "Your father is a swine! Your mother languishes, reduced to offering her very body to try to offset your father's gambling. Meanwhile, he encourages her ruin, lives beyond his means, and dissolves your inheritance." I was inches from his wide green eyes, my spit spattering across the lenses of his glasses.

Lupin jerked him back by his collar, out of range of my anger. "Go wait for me in the hall, Harry. I'll be down in a moment." His voice was gentle but held the crack of command of a colonel used to being obeyed.

Like a marionette, the boy submitted, stumbling out of the door.

I crossed to the whiskey decanters; pouring myself a glass, I tossed the amber liquid back in a practiced movement.

"The money is on the desk, Lupin. Four thousand pounds to buy a Lieutenant rank in the Foot Guards and to outfit him," I said tiredly, not turning from the sideboard. "Keep him close to you and safe." I laughed a little. "A safe as anyone can be kept in a time of war."

I heard Lupin's sigh. "Severus…"

"You were to explain it to him, Lupin, so that I would not have to."

"I tried, I just… how does one tell a boy that his own father…" Lupin trailed off.

"I'm surprised they let weeping, fainting flowers like you into the Foot Guard," I sneered.

Lupin looked through the money laid out on the desk. "You are being very generous Severus."

"Not without cost, I assure you. I have expectations for you, as well."

Lupin pocketed the money. "I am at your service."

"Go to Lady Potter; try as best you can to protect her. I cannot help her now; this money and her salvation must come by your hand." I motioned to another collection of coins close at hand.

Lupin frowned, smoothing his hand over the golden buttons on his uniform jacket. "You know I don't have the means to provide this much money."

"Details." Why did everything have to be so complex? "You have the money now. Allay her fears with this money, allowing young Mr. Potter time to make something of himself. Protect her from making the same offer she made to me, to someone else."

"I will do my best, Severus. Thank you, thank you for…"

I cut him off. "Your thanks are as unnecessary as they are useless. You're _his_ friend, damn it; why didn't you help him before? Why didn't you help _her_?" I snarled, gathering his lapels in my fists and yanking him from the ground. "She has been reduced to crawling back to an old and discarded suitor by her husband, the very man who was to provide her protection. It is disgusting."

* * *

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 19th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who makes me clearer and cleaner]._

_Notes on military officers and purchasing commissions: Commissions could only be purchased in cavalry and infantry regiments. Snape purchases Mr. Potter a Lieutenant (second from the lowest) rank in the foot guards would have cost £2,050. As a matter of comparison, a farm laborer in 1800 would earn about 30 to 40 pounds per year. _


	26. Prepared

**Prepared**

**England, Near Barnsley in South Yorkshire**

**January 4th, 1815**

* * *

"Dearly beloved…" the minister intoned.

I had not explained to Hermione why the banns were not to be read in either parish. I refused to allow any whisperings of my marriage to reach either master before it could not be avoided. I preferred groveling before the Archbishop of Canterbury for a Special License, and after all, what was four more pounds compared to what I had paid out for my happiness and peace of mind so far? Mrs. Granger could not understand why I would not allow the news to be submitted to the papers, but I stood firm on this point. Any doubts Hermione had about my requests she kept to herself and submitted wholly to my wishes.

Here she stood in her new dress of silver silk, gazing up at me through her lashes, with a diaphanous veil flowing around her shoulders.

It hardly seemed real, but the droning of the priest assured me that this was actually happening.

Turning, we clasped our right hands as the woven gold and silver handfasting cord was tied around our wrists.

"I, Severus Tobias Snape, take thee, Hermione Jean Granger, to be my wedded wife, till death us depart, and thereto I plight thee my troth." My voice sounded gravely to my own ears.

"I, Hermione Jean Granger, take thee, Severus Tobias Snape, to be my wedded husband, till death us depart, and thereto I plight thee my troth."

"Forasmuch as Severus and Hermione have consented together in holy Wedlock, and have witnessed the same before this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a Ring, and by joining of hands, I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together. Amen."

And it was done.

Her hold tightened on mine as we descended from the altar.

The audience was small: Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Minerva, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Miss Vane, and a Miss Brown. Miss Weasley stood opposite Draco; they had not ceased making eyes at each other throughout the whole of the ceremony.

I leaned towards my godson. "Draco, cease making doe eyes at Miss Weasley this instant," I hissed. I was sure as soon as he opened his mouth she would be disabused of any notion of admiration she might have for him.

I accepted the congratulations of our tiny congregation and drew Hermione through the arched doorway into the snowy churchyard where the townsfolk awaited us. I could see Mr. Ronald Weasley slouched against the fence, but not even his heated glare could disrupt my happiness.

Easing Hermione into the carriage, I turned to the audience to toss a few handfuls of coins. Sixpences would have sufficed, but I chose gold coins instead. I could afford to share my good fortune with others. For a moment I saw a pine Yulelog in my mind's eye; if only they knew what kind of price a fortune made in war came at.

* * *

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 21th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid,__ who knows the true cost of a fortune_].

_And thanks to orlandoswitch [who wonders if Draco will get a chance to speak with Hermione].__  
_

_Edited for nitpicks on March 28th, 2013._

* * *

_On aside: So many interesting things to talk about! Please PM or email me if you are interested in a link to my many, many sources regarding Regency marriage & etc. _

_Banns were to be read for three Sundays prior in both parishes (if the bride and groom hailed from differing places); there are two kinds of licenses to marry to avoid banns being read (Common and Special) with differing costs. I will admit that the Special License is overused in Regency romance; however, with Snape's fears about Hermione's safety, I thought my use was defensible. Also, although the cost of a Special License was raised in 1815 from __£4 to £5, I assume that Severus bought it in December of 1814, even though they are being married in January of 1815, because he seems to be that sort of planner, and Special Licenses did not have a time or place limitation like the Common License._

_Also, brides wearing white did not truly become a thing until the Victorian era. _

_And finally, I couldn't really find any information on what wizarding weddings look like (although, gentle reader, if you have information I will gladly read it), so I took the liberty of assuming a handfasting, which has historical use from the 12th to the 17th century in England. The 1753 Marriage Act (referenced above) with its stringent laws ended the handfasting custom. _

_Blah, blah. Done._


	27. Haven

**Haven**

**England, Spinner's End near Baslow in Derbyshire**

* * *

I carried my bride through the floo instead of over the threshold. Although it could be argued that seeing Spinner's End from the drive would have been more awe inspiring, even I was not so vain as to force the girl to endure the same horrendous ride I had only a month ago, just for the view. I hoped that she would have the rest of her life to contemplate the many vistas.

Arm in arm we passed through the flooing chamber and into the main hall. My servants lined the wall, waiting to welcome their new mistress.

"Mrs. Snape, welcome home," I leaned down to murmur into her ear.

She answered with a brilliant smile before averting her eyes shyly to receive the welcome of the staff.

I sent her small trunks up to her rooms before showing her the main apartments.

"Did you build this house?" she asked in the grand dining room.

"In a manner of speaking; I bought it very cheaply from a man in financial distress, but many of the improvements are my own. In fact, come and see the library. That will be sure to please you."

She seemed to know her way through the halls, feet never hesitating.

I flung open the doors and presented her with the two floors of books, linked by spiral staircases and ornate walkways. Each section of shelf had its own rolling ladder. Afternoon light streamed across the oriental rugs from the floor to ceiling windows.

She was speaking to me, but I barely heard her, watching her in her wedding finery twirling through my haven, veil trailing.

"It is just as I remember it, except my portrait is here."

I was seized by a deep hunger, a longing for the little woman before me. Her excitement and happiness seeped into my heart like warmth.

"Come here, Hermione." I held out my arms to her.

She turned sharply, and I realized this was the first time I had used her given name in her hearing.

She came without hesitation, allowing herself to be folded against me and resting her head on my silver silk waistcoat. I gently eased the veil from its resting place. It slid over her arms and shoulders, pooling at her feet. I began threading my fingers through her elaborately twisted hair, discarding her pins on the carpet. The curls sprang free and soon she had a gleaming mane that fell over her shoulders and down to her hips.

Her slender arms tentatively wound around my waist and she gently rubbed her cheek against the fabric covering my chest.

I sighed, for once in my life contented.

"I'll take you to your room so you may refresh yourself for dinner," I murmured. "Please…" I paused, the word feeling foreign on my tongue. "Please leave your hair down and your wedding dress on." I was mortified to feel my own blush rising, making such intimate requests of her.

She only nodded, sighing softly and relaxing against me.

* * *

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 21st, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who is eminently practical]._

_I am sure that Severus can afford his horse and carriage delivered to Spinner's End, dear. Either that or he got rid of them like he threatened he would._

_And thanks to orlandoswitch [who is delightfully ambiguous]._

_On aside: Please imagine the library from Disney's Beauty and the Beast. Belle is not the only one who is enamored of books. Also, I haven't any idea how unscrupulous it is of Snape to ask her for such liberties, but they are in their own home now and he is unequivocally master here. I know his butler, Austen, won't tell. Allow me my fluff, I beg you!_


	28. Unique

**Unique**

* * *

I opened the door for her and stepped back so she might precede me. I had attempted to take what I knew of her tastes into consideration during my improvements but felt the first fluttering of nervousness when I glanced over the room with a newly critical eye. My own room was dark, but I had chosen lightly stained woods, crimson, and gold for her space. The large bed dominated the right wall, its depths hidden behind gold and scarlet curtains.

I stayed by the entrance to watch her carefully touch the furniture and glance at her trunks resting near her dressing room door.

She came to stand next to me; I twirled a finger into her hair, stretching a curl out and then letting it go, watching it spring back.

"You may change anything you don't like." I motioned to the room.

"Whose room was this… you know… before?" she asked.

I stretched out another curl. "It has never been used. I ordered the furnishing last week."

"You mean you decorated it for me?"

I wasn't sure if I should be embarrassed or proud. I settled for discomfited. "You seem to like crimson and gold."

She immediately scrutinized the room with renewed interest, examining the pictures, the chairs, poking through the cupboards and studying the knickknacks I had foolishly spent half a day gathering.

I observed her, completely bemused at her response to my confession. Hermione, I realized, was utterly exceptional and completely enigmatic.

I finally tore myself away to allow her time to prepare for our meal.

It was positively novel to sit with another person at my own dining room table. I had never sat in this room to eat in the four years I had owned the property. Hermione was easy to delight. She exclaimed over the thick rug, hurried to the curtained windows to look out over the lawn, and craned her neck to look at the gracefully arched plaster mold ceiling of gilded flowers set in recessed octagons.

Her childlike enthusiasm enchanted me; I hated to call her away from the windows for the meal. The cook had provided a dizzying selection of savory and sweet dishes.

We sat at a table that seemed tiny in the large room. I considered demanding that she sit beside me instead at the upper end but held my peace. I watched her enjoying our meal and realized just how quiet our table was compared to all the meals we had shared at the Granger home.

After a few glasses of wine Hermione seemed prepared to break the silence. Perhaps she also felt the novelty of our situation.

"How is it that you have peaches in midwinter?"

I swallowed the last of my wine in one gulp and motioned for Austen to refill it. Was I reduced to seeking liquid courage at the prospect of having an amiable conversation?

"There is a conservatory in the garden. Perhaps I will show it to you tomorrow."

"How lovely," she breathed.

* * *

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 24th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who worked hard on this hasty chapter through its many, many edits. More edits then any author has a right to.]_

_Image search the dining room at Chatsworth House, it's all reds and golds and so lovely. The Great Conservatory at Chatsworth was built from 1836 to 1841 and demolished in 1920 because it required ten men to run it and huge quantities of coal to heat it during a time when there was no coal to spare. With a Potions Master in residence and magic to heat it, I have taken the liberty of assuming it could have been built in 1811. Notes on staff will come from the needs of the estate in the 1930s and include 29 members of the house staff, at least 14 members of daily staff, stable staff and gamekeepers of undisclosed number, an army of garden staff of between 20 and 80 persons, and a librarian. _


	29. Approach

**Approach**

* * *

"Come in…" her voice sounded hesitantly from the other side of the door.

I eased into her room, only to find her fully dressed and standing as far away from the bed as possible, her mass of hair shining bronze in the firelight. I swallowed thickly.

"Is something amiss?"

She motioned no, but then slowly shook her head yes. "My laces are knotted and I… I can't get them loose," she whispered, looking mortified.

"I am sorry. I had forgotten… I will secure you a lady's maid tomorrow." I felt chagrined myself. Just because I didn't have a valet, preferring my teaching robes to complicated fashionable dress, didn't mean my wife didn't need aid with her toilet. "Come, I will help you," I said with more bravado than I felt. Women's clothing was nothing if not a mystery.

She crossed to me, turning away and dragging her mass of hair over her shoulder. I surveyed the back of her dress with a critical eye. Gently I unclasped the necklace dripping with rubies and discarded it on a small table. I realized suddenly, looking at the curve of her neck, just how fragile she was. I could crush her with my bare hands. I cupped her shoulders carefully, wondering at what point she would stiffen and pull away. Instead, she leaned back into me, her head tilting to the side. I lowered my lips to her shoulder, my dark hair slipping forward to brush against her pale skin.

She sighed.

Suddenly I imagined sending her away, to someone else, to ask for money. The thought of having another man caress her made me ache with sorrow and yet enraged me simultaneously. Nothing could ever be allowed happen that was not in my power to shelter her from. I couldn't imagine sanctioning anyone the opportunity to use and wound her.

"Is something wrong, Master Snape?" Hermione glanced over her shoulder at me.

"Hermione, do you know my given name?" I strained to keep my tone light.

"Of course," she blushed anew.

I tightened my hold on her slightly. "Use it."

"Severus," she breathed.

I shook off the unpleasant thoughts. "Nothing is wrong, Her-mi-on-e," I drew out her name deliberately.

Tugging on the dress for a few moments, I grew frustrated and drew my wand. She blinked up at me trustingly. I wondered what her reaction would be if she knew the kinds of spells this piece of dark wood had known. With a quick flick, the silk was pooling around her slippers.

"I should have thought of that," she muttered ruefully.

I picked her up out of the sea of fabric and carried her to the bed. Glancing down at the other white and lacy garments, the names of which I did not know, I grimaced.

"How infuriating."

She giggled as I lay her amongst the pillows and leaned forward to kiss her gently. She reached up and tangled her hands in my hair as my caresses became more demanding.

* * *

_She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; She is woman, and therefore to be won. [Shakespeare – Henry VI] _

* * *

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 22nd, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who knows how the gowns are fashioned]._

_And thanks to orlandoswitch [who moderates Severus and his wayward tongue]. _


	30. Scars

**Scars **

* * *

One moment I was asleep and the next I was completely awake. I was not in my own bed and there was weight and warmth next to me. My eyes popped open at the click of the door latch.

Lifting my head I met the wide-eyed stare of the maid standing half inside the doorway, holding a steaming cup of chocolate. She looked at me aghast, and I glowered at her through the dark curtain of my hair, nodding to the bedside table. I wandlessly closed the bed curtains with a snap.

Looking down at the woman curled beside me, I marveled at actually falling asleep with another person near me. She was still sleeping, her lashes dark against her cheeks, lips slightly pursed, her hair falling in glorious disarray around her.

I listened to the clink of the china as the maid set down the cup and moved to open the window curtains with a gentle swish of fabric.

With a soft exhalation of breath, Hermione rolled closer to me, as though seeking my body.

A soft click alerted me to the maid's departure.

Hermione shifted again and nestled her face against my shirt. In the mysterious half-light of the curtained bed I felt emboldened. Lowering my stubble roughened cheek, I brushed against her face. She murmured low and turned away from the caress. Her nose wrinkled and she began to wake. Her eyelids fluttered and she caught sight of me looming over her.

"Good morning." Her voice was rough with sleep. "Is it morning?"

I nodded, brushing my greasy hair back from my face. I opened the curtain facing the bedside table and summoned the blue and gold china cup that held her chocolate.

She sat up to accept it, gathering the sheet and tucking it under her arms to cover her body. The sight of her bare shoulders excited me anew and I turned away quickly, buttoning the top few buttons of the shirt I had refused to remove. I stumbled out of the curtained chamber, searching urgently for my waistcoat and breaches.

"Severus?"

I leaned on a chair heavily. "Yes?"

I caught sight of myself in a mirror, disheveled hair and half undressed, my pale, skinny legs exposed. I doubted that Hermione desired to wake to such a sight.

"Is something wrong?" She parted the curtain to peer at me.

I retreated around the chair, clutching my bundle of clothing against my chest.

"No," I managed.

She retreated back into the bed.

"I'll see you at breakfast," I said, and fled through the connecting door and into my chamber. I paused before my own mirror, casting a critical gaze at myself as I pulled my shirt over my head. My scars were as numerous as they were ugly. The old faint marks from my childhood lashings in the Manchester slums were overlade with knife lacerations, bullet wounds, and the intricate scaring of several dangerous hexes. I took a deep breath and pulled on a fresh shirt with a grimace.

* * *

"_Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars." Khalil Gibran_

* * *

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 26nd, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who sees Severus is wallowing in self loathing]_

* * *

_Thirty chapters! I am calling this the halfway point. Drinks all around! In other news, please vote on my profile poll.  
_


	31. Experiment

**Experiment **

* * *

After my morning humiliation, I was hopeful that I might recover some of my courage. The thick billowing cloak of my teaching robes offered some dignity and comfort as I escorted Hermione down the richly tapestried hall. She smelled of the sweet orange blossom perfume that I had brewed and wore a delicate string of pearls I had gifted her for Christmas.

She snuck glances at me every so often and I felt worry twisting in my gut. I wondered how a gentleman would address a woman after taking liberties with her person and then acting like a panicking dunderhead the next morning.

"I thought I would show you the laboratory," I said, breaking the silence.

Her face lit up before she attempted to conceal her enthusiasm. "I would greatly enjoy seeing where you work."

I motioned to the doors as we passed. "My study. Ingredient storage room. And here," I paused to open the door for her, "the laboratory."

I waited silently by the door, simply watching her explore my workspace. No one had ever been allowed such free access to my private laboratory. My secret research lay open to her inquisitive gaze.

I knew when she caught sight of her classwork spread over two tables. She froze and turned wide, scared eyes to me.

"Where did you get these?" her tone accused.

I was taken aback; what could have displeased her?

"I thought you might like to try some of your theories," I said carefully, crossing the room to ease one out of the pile. "_A Response to Professor Snape's Theory of Alchemical Spagyrics and the Fermentation Process," _I intoned."You had quite an interesting rebuff of my secondary fermentation theory, if I recall." I motioned to the tables I had cleared for her, shining with new glass alembics, tubes, funnels, flasks, all manner of gleaming caldrons, and a variety of implements. It was prepared just as her research had specified, ready for her carefully hypothesized experiments.

I was horrified to see her eyes fill with tears.

"Whatever is the matter?"

"Are you mocking me?" she whispered, no longer able to meet my eyes.

"Absolutely not," I snapped, uncomfortable with the whole situation. "You don't have to work in my laboratory if you do not wish. I could have another room made into a private space." As much as I was loath to admit it, I felt her rejection of my gift keenly.

I drew myself up stiffly, prepared to stalk out of the room, when she flung herself into my arms. I was mystified. "Hermione?" I cradled her against me, clumsily attempting to comfort and quiet her.

"How long have you known about my… er… academics?" She sniffed, her hands fisted in my robes.

In my mind's eye I suddenly saw her in the parlor, her uncle laughing about bluestockings. "I have had these papers for over a month; indeed, I have spent many pleasurable evenings going through your theories. You should not be ashamed of your hard work."

* * *

_"Men of genius are meteors destined to burn themselves out in lighting up their age." — Napoleon Bonaparte_

_Edited for grammar on March 26nd, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who is sealing the deal brilliantly]. _


	32. Reveal

**Reveal **

* * *

"Hermione, Draco Malfoy. Draco, Mrs. Snape." I glared at my godson, daring him to behave with anything less than absolute propriety.

He bowed his bright blond head over her hand offering a disarming smile. "Mrs. Snape, the pleasure of your acquaintance overwhelms your humble servant," he simpered.

I favored him with a glare. "If you require anything in my absence that Austin is not able to provide, you are to apply to Draco."

She carefully extricated her hand from Draco's grasp and turned a questioning look to me.

I explained, "If you need more money, if you feel unsafe on the property, or if you need anything fetched from London." I said the last with a certain amount of glee at the prospect of Draco ferrying my wife's packages up and down Diagon Alley.

"_More _money?" She asked wonderingly before recollecting herself to slip into the role of hostess and summon tea.

I knew that my housekeeper, Madam Fairfax, had spoken with her about her pin money. It was Madam Fairfax's opinion that the amount I had set was exorbitant, but I had brushed aside her carefully phrased cautions.

I retreated to the window while Hermione poured the tea. Draco was chattering away in his customarily infuriating way. A steaming cup, buoyed by Hermione's magic, gently nudged my elbow. I turned to see her looking intently at me as Draco chattered.

"And then, once the war is over and Uncle Severus is back, we can finally…"

Hermione's gaze snapped to Draco's smiling face and her teacup clattered. My cup, still suspended, fell and shattered against the wooden floor.

Draco trailed off, confused.

"W-war?" Hermione searched his face before looking to me for conformation.

Understanding followed quickly by horror flitted across Draco's face. He turned beseeching eyes to my face. He always was too comfortable within my house.

As casually as I could manage, I flicked my wand over the broke cup and carried it over to Hermione.

"What my loquacious godson means to say is, once the rumors of war die down, we can take part in whatever frivolity he desires." I gathered my robes and sat down next to her.

Hermione's hands shook as she refilled the repaired teacup. "Lord Malfoy, I hope that we shall have the pleasure of your company at dinner this evening."

Draco looked rather pale and fidgeted with his waistcoat buttons.

I glared at him and jerked my head towards Hermione, sending my lank hair swinging. My message was clear: answer her.

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Snape," he said in a small voice, avoiding my eyes.

In full view of my wayward godson, I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and moved closer to Hermione.

"Is this your business on the continent?" Hermione whispered.

"I go to assess a rumored threat. I hope that you will exercise more caution than Draco in your conversations." My lips brushed the shell of her ear as she turned into my embrace.

Draco colored and dropped his gaze.

* * *

"_There is no trouble so great or grave that cannot be much diminished by a nice cup of tea." __—_ _Bernard-Paul Heroux_

_Pin money is an allowance of money given by a husband to his wife for private and personal expenditures._

_Alice Fairfax is the housekeeper of Thornfield in Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre._

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 27th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who knows Severus is too reticent]. _


	33. Order

**Order**

* * *

Albus deposited the heavy cases on the desk that stood between us. Four plain, black leather valises innocently enclosed the money requested. I glared at them in deep revulsion. One more detail resolved, and one less reason to put off my journey to France.

"And there you are, my boy."

"No tea, Albus?" I smirked. "I declare; I am parched."

For a moment the amiable mask slipped, and Albus glowered at me before recovering and smiling again. "My dear boy, I apologize; I am sure the elves would be more than happy to bring you something."

I sneered and turned on my heel, heading for the archway, the disillusioned cases bobbing along behind me.

"Severus—" Albus began, but I shut the door firmly behind me and headed for my office floo.

The college was soothing, the familiar click of my boots on the stones, the furtive glances of the students as I flew through the halls. On a whim, I headed for the great hall. The knowledge that this may well be the last time I would see it spurred my steps.

It was evening, and the white wax candles were lit. The ceiling was a deep purple with clouds highlighted in orange sliding across it. The sudden nostalgia was disconcerting as my mind retraced unexpected memories. I remembered the year I had figured out how to break into and manipulate the complex enchantment. For old time's sake, I sent a flurry of bats across the moon and left them to create eddies in the clouds. Pleased with my mischief, I continued towards my office.

"Colonel Lupin, what a surprise," I sneered, as I caught sight of a red coat through the gloom.

He nodded and waited for me to open my office and escort him inside. "Master Snape."

"Make this quick."

"I wanted to update you on Lady Potter," he began hesitantly.

I rounded on him, "I do not wish to know." The cases settled unobtrusively into the corner.

"She didn't react well to Harry joining the military," he forged ahead.

I began going through the desk, sorting papers into piles. "That's not my problem."

He sank into one of my armchairs and continued, "She blames me."

I sneered at him, "And you've come crying to me?"

"Perhaps if you were to speak with her…" he trailed off hopefully.

"All that could be said between Lady Potter and me has been said. I do not care if she is _pleased _or otherwise." I tossed an entire stack of papers into the grating and set them ablaze. Taking a deep breath, I leaned into the mantle.

"I know she hurt you, Severus, and yet you are doing a good thing by her—"

I turned back to him, seeing guilt and pain written clearly on his face. I had never been one to commiserate, but at this moment I felt strangely close to him. "The best thing you can do for _her _now is to help her son."

* * *

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 27th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who enjoys Severus's sense of humor]. _


	34. Letters

**Letters**

* * *

The brightness of the moon cast deep shadows as I lit my wand and passed from my study, through to the entrance hall of Spinner's End and up the stairs towards my room. Awaiting a servant, a thick packet of parchment lay on the small table outside of Hermione's room and caught my attention as I approached. I glanced at it and the name written in her neat hand cause my blood to run cold.

_Mr. Ronald Weasley_

I suddenly felt that I might never be able to breathe again, my heart clenching painfully. Had she already begun to arrange a liaison with him? I ferociously tore at the seal with an unsteady hand. Out of the packet fell four unopened letters addressed to her from Mr. Weasley, and one addressed to him. I opened hers.

_Mr. Weasley,_

_I demand that you cease all correspondence with me immediately. I will not waste my ink to tell you how improprietous and unwelcome your letters are, because I cannot imagine you are so ignorant. I am returning these to you. Be assured that if I receive any more, I will direct the servants to burn them immediately._

_Sincerely,_

_Mrs. Severus Snape_

I read it through twice before I understood what it said. I noticed that she had used my personal stationary and signed her new name with an intricate flourish. I did not mark the passing of time as I stood in the cold hall, staring at the proof of my wife's proud loyalty.

Finally, with a deep sigh, I reclosed the packet and reaffixed the wax seal with a tap of my wand. I opened the door to my own room distractedly, my mind filled with dizzying thoughts. I glanced wistfully at the closed connecting door.

I undressed slowly, discarding my robe in an untidy pile on the floor and working each button of my frock coat free meditatively.

A sudden rustle of the bedclothes had my wand in my hand and a hex on my lips.

"Severus?" a sleepy voice asked.

I stalked forward and yanked back the curtains. Hermione lay in the middle of my bed underneath my coverlet, blinking up at me.

"Hermione?" I couldn't keep the incredulous note out of my voice.

She smiled drowsily. "Are you coming to bed?"

Her innocent question sent desire spiraling through my body. I shrugged out of my coat and pulled down the bedclothes.

She slid over slightly, settling against me, head on my chest. "Did you have a pleasant trip?"

"No," I muttered, occupied with unbraiding her hair and combing it out with my fingers. "How was your… day?" I was unused to asking such inane questions.

She absently toyed with the buttons on my shirt with one hand. I stilled it and entwined my fingers with hers.

She yawned, "Alright, I suppose. I don't think Mrs. Fairfax thinks very highly of me yet."

"If she gives you any trouble, remind her that _you_ are mistress here."

* * *

_"We can cure physical diseases with medicine, but the only cure for loneliness, despair, and hopelessness is love. There are many in the world who are dying for a piece of bread, but there are many more dying for a little love." __— _Mother Teresa  


_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 27th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who sees what Severus cannot. And yes, he did just get into bed with his trousers on.] _


	35. Glass

**Glass**

* * *

I ushered her into the conservatory, calling, "Mr. Longbottom?"

She shed her woolen outer wrap and brushed the snowflakes from her curling bangs.

Neville appeared in one of the doorways with a smile. "Master Snape."

"Mr. Neville Longbottom is the head gardener of the magical plants here. Mr. Longbottom, my wife." I motioned between them. "Hermione, Mr. Longbottom."

Hermione curtsied and smiled at the younger man. He flushed slightly under her radiance.

"Take care that you don't allow him in the lab. Mr. Longbottom can explode a caldron with a glance." My voice was sharper than I intended.

He merely smiled good-naturedly. "That's true enough. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Snape."

I brushed passed him and drew her deeper into the bright inner rooms. "This is the conservatory. If you need any ingredients for your experiments, this is where you will be able to find them."

"It is very warm in here."

"Magic."

I showed her the rooms dedicated to cooking herbs and vegetables, the fruit trees, and finally the magical plants. I watched her hungrily as she explored, trying to memorize the way she moved and spoke, greedy for these precious moments as our time together was drawing to an end with my imminent departure. Time had become my bitterest adversary.

She circled a Venomous Tentacula with care. "I have the distinct feeling it is sizing me up as a meal."

I merely raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know how to harvest most of these ingredients."

"There are several books in the library that will be helpful, and of course, Mr. Longbottom will help you." I glanced at the Tenticula as it tried to snag her from behind. "Diffindo," I snarled, and the offending chunk was left flopping ineffectually on the floor.

"Any dangerous plants will require Mr. Longbottom's assistance," I said with finality, tucking her hand in the curve of my arm and retreating to a less dangerous room.

"Surely you can teach me."

I sighed. "Have you forgotten that I am leaving?"

"Must you go?" She tilted her head back to gaze up at me.

"Well, consider that this trip may end all of your problems, Mrs. Snape." I said with a sneer, my own despondency bringing out my temper.

She blinked, "How so?"

"If I die, you will be rid of me and heiress to all I possess. Perhaps the Dark Lord is doing _you_ a favor."

Her eyes filled with tears but she met my gaze squarely. My lioness had returned. "What a horrible, horrible thing to say!" She whirled away from me and wiped at her eyes.

I felt like an ogre. "Hermione," I murmured, beginning to reach for her but unsure of her response.

She turned and threw her arms around me. "Be safe. Promise me that you will _be safe."_ Her vehemence surprised me.

"I will do everything in my power to be safe," I said carefully.

"And come home," she pressed.

Home. Not just to Spinner's End. Come home.

"I promise."

* * *

_People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones._

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on March 31st, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who sees that Severus is quite prickly].  
Edited for spelling on April 1st, 2013 [via Vidicon666, who is eminent].  
Edited for tiny missing words on April 5th, 2013 [via orlandoswitch, who is in the lab].  
_


	36. Depart

**Depart**

* * *

Austen, normally so composed, fidgeted as I arranged the last of my traveling cases.

"Keep her safe and happy, and when the Dark Lord is put down you will be released from your life debt." I waved the document that provided a monetary compensation as well as acknowledging a paid life debt. "Regardless of whether I return," I said snidely, tucking the parchment into the wall safe.

"Severus…" A little of our shared northern lilt was creeping back into his voice. It wasn't his doing that the Dark Lord believed he was dead and hadn't called him to return to his service.

"Enough."

I strode from the room purposefully; his gratitude for past and future services showed so brightly I found it choking in its intensity.

Hermione awaited me in the entrance hall. I could see that the floo was already lit in the small adjoining room.

Her smile wobbled dangerously as she clasped her hands over a forest green dress and tugged a fringed shawl tighter around her shoulders. The servants were nowhere in sight.

"You will remember what I've cautioned you about," I started speaking before I even realized I had opened my mouth, my tone biting.

Hermione nodded. "I am to apply to Draco or Austen if I need anything or feel unsafe. The library portraits will transport me to safe houses, if I need to leave Spinner's End. I am to do as I please while you are gone…" She trailed off, biting her lip and thinking.

"Perhaps you should write it down," I snipped.

She glared at me. "Severus these are our last moments together; don't ruin them with petulance."

In a moment I had her gathered in my arms. A tightening in my chest felt suspiciously like sorrow, and a pricking in my eyes may have been tears. "Hermione…" My quiet plea sounded suspiciously like a moan.

She wrapped her arms around me, under my heavy traveling robes. "I miss you already," she said in a small voice.

I ignored the several sarcastic replies that jumped quickly to mind, cuddling her closer. I do not know how long we stood in the middle of the hall gathering what little comfort we could from each other. I realized that this might be the last time I ever saw her. I eased out of our tight embrace to cup her face in one hand, tipping it towards the light. I held her close enough to feel her gentle breath on my face. I tried to memorize every freckle, the shape of her eyes, the flecks of gold in her irises, the way her curls framed her forehead, and finally, the shape and color of her lips.

A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and slid over her cheek where I caught it with my thumb.

I attempted to brush my lips chastely against hers but my desperation bled over into my caress. Hazily, I acknowledged that she frantically clung to me as well.

* * *

_"If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more." ― Jane Austen, Emma_

_Edited for grammar on April 2nd, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who is glad that Hermione corrects Severus's petulance]._


	37. Detour

**Detour**

**England, The Burrow near Barnsley in South Yorkshire**

* * *

"I demand to see Ronald Weasley," I snarled, standing stubbornly planted in the entry hall. I had refused all offers of hospitality and was finding it difficult to keep my wand tucked in its sleeve sheath in the face of five shocked and disapproving faces topped with red hair.

Arthur had been called in from his workshop and blanched in the face of my temper. "Ronald isn't in at the moment…" he trailed off under my hard glare.

"I don't have time to waste, so you will have to convey my message," I scowled.

Arthur nodded as I drew the packet of letters from my pocket.

"I intercepted letters that he wrote to Mrs. Snape after we were wed. Shall I read some of his indecencies?"

Molly hurriedly shoed the twins and Ginevera from the hall with a pale face.

Just seeing the uneven scrawl sent my temper flaring again. "'Dearest Hermione – I called you my own once; allow me to make you mine.' Or this one: 'Send me word when I can come to you… my flesh longs for your touch.' Or perhaps… 'Tell me that you only married him for his income; give me some consolation, even just one hundred pounds would be enough.'" I stopped there, unable to continue as the words choked in my throat like bile.

"Master Snape," Arthur raised beseeching hands towards me.

I cut him off brusquely, "I will say this only once, so take note to be sure you clearly communicate my message." I paused to smile menacingly. "If I hear the slightest whisper that young Mr. Weasley has bothered _my_ wife in the future, I will not hesitate to demand recompense." I turned to Molly, who was staring at me with her mouth slightly open. "Do you remember his dueling scores from primary school?" I mocked. "Because he might need to brush up. He has chosen a dangerous opponent: one who plays to win."

Subtlety was beyond my ability in the miasma of my rage and pain. I hoped the Weasleys recognized Ron's good fortune that he had missed me this afternoon; otherwise I am certain that I would have cut him down where he stood.

"Master Snape, please accept our humblest apologies. We had no idea that Ronald would attempt to pursue Miss Grang- ah, Mrs. Snape, after you were married. We have certainly never encouraged such behavior in him." Arthur was quick to placate.

"I do not overlook this offense lightly. He is still young, and I hope that he might improve his character in the future." For a moment, a young James Potter swam into view in my memories, his face twisted into something ugly as he taunted the students he did not care for. "Perhaps I presume too much, and yet… you both should ask yourselves if this unbecoming behavior could have been avoided by some action on your part."

I gained no pleasure from leaving Arthur and Molly white-faced and shamed without so much as a farewell.

* * *

_"Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear." ― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre _

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on April 3rd, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who knows that regardless of whatever else Ronald is, he is certainly gross for using the word flesh]._

_And thanks to orlandoswitch who wished for a confrontation between Severus & Arthur. I hope it was everything you desired. _

_Edited for tiny words on April 5th, 2013 [via orlandoswitch, who called you their own]._


	38. Bald

**Bald**

**France, South of Paris**

**February 20****th****, 1815**

* * *

_I was wheezing when I crested the hill leading into the park. To cowardly to approach the house, I circled around the pond toward the conservatory. The silence that hung over the estate was ominous. By the time I reached the building, I could barely walk. The structure looked like a disemboweled animal, panes of glass shattered and metal ribs exposed. I turned back towards the house, my heart in my throat, noticing for the first time the destruction there. The windows had been punched out, and from the soot-blackened bricks it was obvious that a fire had eviscerated the building._

_"Hermione…" I moaned, taking two steps before collapsing on the glass-strewn path. I wiped a hand through my hair and it came back covered in thick locks of the dark strands. Like a bird under stress, I was tearing out my own plumage._

_"There you are! I have been looking everywhere for you!" _

_I rolled over to see Hermione hurrying towards me. Her dress was a brilliant blue against the grey sky, and her hair was wild around her shoulders._

_"You are unharmed?" I rasped._

_She smiled at me and knelt to loop my arm over her shoulders and lever me upright. "I am just fine. But Severus, really? The fire was a bit much, even for you."_

_I leaned against her, my face in her hair._

_She was leading me further into the park, still half carrying me, babbling happily._

_"I have been sleeping more and more now, trying to catch you. Mrs. Fairfax thinks I am… mmm… pregnant." She blushed and turned down another path. "According to the books I had Draco fetch for me… Severus, the lack of information about procreation in your library is positively shocking… Mrs. Fairfax might be right." _

_"I… er… pregnant?" I managed._

_"Come, I've managed to save a little space from your destructive imagination." She ignored my question as we broke through the line of trees and into a little clearing. _

_The sky was bright; I could hear birds warbling, and the grass was richly green. Hermione led me to a blanket and eased me down onto it. I complied with a creaking of joints._

_"Severus, why is your hair falling out?" Worry made her tone sharp. "Are you ill?"_

_I flopped back onto the blanket. "Just tired. So tired."_

_She sat next to me, her legs pulled up to her chin, looking down at my face. "Where are you?"_

_I blinked, "What?"_

_She took my hand in hers, pressing it against her cheek. "Where in France are you?"_

_"South of Paris… Hermione, promise me that whatever happens, you won't revile me." I couldn't believe the sentimental drivel that was spewing from my lips. _

_She smiled and kissed my palm. "Severus, I love you." _

_I love you._

I woke with a start, blankets tangled, my heart pounding. Staggering to the small grimy mirror, I investigated my hairline; it seemed unharmed. Staring at my gaunt face I whispered, "Don't be a fool."

* * *

_"There is no moment of my life when you are not a part of me; you hold my heart; you guard my soul; you guide my dreams so tenderly. And if my will might be done, and all I long for could come true, with perfect joy I would choose to share eternity with you." ― Robert Sexton _

_According my source, going bald in a dream suggests a lack of self-esteem or worries about getting older. _

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on April 4th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who knows that Hermione is brilliant]._

_And thanks to orlandoswitch [whose notes on my outline are like a compass pointing to true north]._


	39. Knowledge

**Knowledge**

**France, South of Grenoble**

**March 7****th****, 1815**

* * *

My muscles burned, and I could feel the stiffness of a body attempting to recover from the Cruciatus Curse. Elba hadn't improved the Dark Lord's temper, and I had been made to feel his discontentment. I groaned, slumping forward on the thrice-blasted horse I had rode for our journey back to Paris. It was only my presence at the port with an obscene sum of money that had spared my life. His Lordship had taken great pleasure in detailing what he would have done to me if he had come to England as a conqueror and found me on my estate. Lucius was beside himself with glee at my fall from grace. The painful lesson of His Lordships displeasure had been taught to me repeatedly over the last two weeks.

"This is just like old times, Snape," Lucius crowed. "The Knights of Walpurgis rise from the ashes of the first war to victory in the second."

I rubbed my hand along my left forearm, feeling the pain of the renewed magic in the brand that marked me as part of the Dark Lord's inner circle.

"To victory. À la victoire," I mumbled, wiping a hand over my eyes as the horse began a small assent. This was torture beyond a mere hex. I was in agony.

Lucius grew bored with me and rode on towards the small knot that had formed around His Lordship.

A cry went up from the front guard, and I drew my wand in one motion, ready for what promised to be the first of many battles for my own life. I watched in fascination as the Dark Lord waved back his guard and approached the regiment alone. He dismounted and walked a few more paces, and I was certain that they could catch him with their guns, if not with their spells.

He spread his arms and tilted his face, grayish in the cloudy light, towards the sky. "Here I am. Kill your Emperor, if you wish."

I glanced covertly at Lucius and Lestrange and caught sight of their drawn wands. I smiled then, a bitter twist of my lips. His Lordship was nothing if not confident.

The regiment shifted uneasily before one solder took up a cry, the others joining as it gathered volume and fervor. "Vive L'Empereur! Long live the Emperor!"

Almost as soon as the danger had presented itself, it had passed and we found our numbers swelling. It would take us at least thirteen more days of this hell to reach Paris. I questioned what we would find. Would the Parisians flee and burn the city as the Russians had when the Dark Lord had attempted to enter Moscow? How long would Louis XVIII hold onto the throne before running? If he had any sense, he would be long gone by the time the Dark Lord darkened the gates of Paris.

Of one thing I was certain: my body might fall apart before I had the pleasure of seeing Paris again.

* * *

_"It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then the victory is yours. It cannot be taken from you, not by angels or by demons, heaven or hell." ― Buddha_

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & spelling on April 4th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who wants to know what Lucius's problem is]. _

_Thanks to orlandoswitch [who wants to know Voldemort's intentions... don't we all?]_

_On aside: this story now has a companion piece called The Dream._


	40. Look

**Look**

**France, Autun, Five Days South of Paris**

**March 15****th****, 1815**

* * *

"Do you see, Severus?" Voldemort motioned over the French countryside, brown and white with exposed soil and winter cover. It was dotted with farms and villages that he would gobble up hungrily as we covered ground on our relentless march towards Paris. Somehow, I had forgotten how short he was, his massive personality making him loom larger than life in my memories. I rubbed my hand down my left arm with a shudder.

"Yes, your Lordship."

"All of this is but a resting place for us to gather strength before we cross to England." He seemed less human somehow, as though pieces of his humanity had been burned away in his passion for dominance.

"Of course."

He turned to look at me; his eyes narrowed accusingly, "You have always struggled with power."

"Sir?" There was a trap somewhere in these softly spoken words.

"You desire it, but not enough."

I swallowed, "Master, you know I serve only you."

"Do you? Do you Severus?" He began to walk towards me, and I knew that another lesson in obedience was soon to come.

I looked at the dirt directly before my boots, feigning servitude.

"You abandoned me once."

I knelt, hopeful that the torture would begin quickly. Sometimes it was worse to wait and build suspense. "No apology is adequate, My Lord."

He turned away again.

The rocky soil dug into my knees, and the wind was chilling as the damp seeped into my bones from the scattered snow.

"Already rumors have reached us that the Congress of Vienna has declared _me_ an outlaw." He scoffed. "Me, who created the greatest French Empire in the history of the world! Soon England will understand the mistake they have made to pit themselves against me."

I moved to haul myself up, but that was a mistake.

"Crucio!"

The red light enveloped me as the familiar roaring filled my ears, and the sensation of white-hot knives covered every inch of my skin. I howled in agony, having learned long ago that Voldemort preferred to enjoy his victims' suffering.

"Growing bored with our conversation?" He asked, sneering.

I took a shuttering breath, "No, your Lordship. I apologize for my inattention."

He smiled, running his tongue over his teeth. I shivered.

"You need to modify your attitude, Severus, or I am afraid I will have no further use for you." He kicked me in the stomach once, hard.

I lay on that hilltop for what seemed like hours, the winter air whipping around me, my body stiffening on the frigid ground.

"His Lordship sent me to see if he killed you." Lucius's voice washed over me, snide and mocking.

I grunted and pushed myself up on all fours. "No, I was meditating on the wisdom that he deemed me worthy to receive." I swayed dangerously. I buried my hand in my pocket so that my thumb could seek out the talisman that Hermione had gifted me for Christmas. My fingers knew the pattern of the silver snakes intimately.

* * *

_"I assess the power of a will by how much resistance, pain, and torture it endures and knows how to turn to its advantage." ― Friedrich Nietzsche_

_If you are having trouble remembering Hermione's gift, reread Chapter 24: Present._

_Edited for grammar & punctuation on April 5th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who is poignant]._


	41. Summer

**Summer**

**France, Auxerre, Three Days South of Paris**

**March 17****th****, 1815**

* * *

_The parlor was warm and bright as I knelt across from Hermione on the hearthrug. The curtains were open to the afternoon light but the view was obscured by a flurry of snowflakes. My wife was smiling, poring hot chocolate into teacups as big as my cupped hands. _

_"How is everything in France, Master Snape?" she asked formally, but her sparkling eyes betrayed her teasing. _

_I opened my mouth to say something witty and found myself spewing the truth. "I have been punished several times for my attitude; the Dark Lord has little patience for fools." I hefted the overlarge teacup to my lips._

_She blinked and nibbled on her lip. I leaned forward and brushed one finger over her lip, gently freeing it from her teeth. _

_"You are with Emperor Voldemort?" Her voice came out as a whisper._

_I smiled a little at her innocence; even in my dreams she was sublime. "Hermione, why do you think I was sent to France?" I asked as gently as I could. "Unfortunately, I find myself unequal to the task of keeping up appearances." _

_The firelight danced across her skin as she frowned. "Severus, you promised!" Her voice wavered miserably, "You promised you would come home."_

_The gentle reproof was clear: I was not doing all that I could, and I was not trying hard enough to stay alive. _

_I took a deep breath, "Will you promise me something in return?"_

_"Of course," she got to her knees and leaned towards me expectantly._

_"Promise me that you do not think badly of me. Believe that I am loyal to England."_

_She nodded, her curls bouncing. "Of course, Severus." _

_I took her hand, tugging her towards me for a gentle kiss, my worry momentarily soothed by her whole-hearted faith in me. _

_"Severus, we don't have much time… but when might you come home?" She cupped my cheeks between her hands and regarded me solemnly._

_"I hope to be home this summer."_

_The smile that curved her lips and lit her face joyfully was exquisite, even as she faded from view. _

I woke in the darkness with a smile, my spirits lifted as though I had seen her in the flesh. Dawn was still a few hours off as I traversed the camp, observing the soldiers and defenses the Dark Lord had placed around himself. I had been sullen since the altercation at Autun but found myself reinvigorated.

A young boy's words echoed in my mind, spoken over three months ago at a dinner table: "You are a hero!"

I had not felt like a hero at any point during the tangled mess of the first war, and I doubted I would start to endure any strange feeling of being a luminary champion now, but I was willing to embrace the idea of heroism for Hermione's sake. Another pretentious mask, one of many I would wear in order to survive. I had never had a more worthy object than attempting to win my wife's approbation.

* * *

_"It is better to be the widow of a hero than the wife of a coward." _― Dolores Ibarruri

_Edited for grammar, spelling, & punctuation on April 8th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who loves poor Severus's earnest desire]._

_And a debt of gratitude to orlandoswitch, who will be pleased that Severus is getting his act together._


	42. Transformation

**Transformation**

**France, Paris, Tuileries Palace **

**March 23****rd****, 1815**

* * *

"When did this happen?" the Dark Lord snarled from his gilded throne. His moods had become increasingly volatile as we received news of the broader political world. Our company was entrenched in the Tuileries Palace, enjoying the luxuries that Louis XVIII had abandoned.

Lucius was tasked with the unfortunate role of being the conveyer of the news gathered from abroad. "On the seventeenth of March, my liege." Three days before we had reached Paris.

"So Great Britain, Russia, Austria, and Prussia have put themselves in opposition to _me_?"

Agreeing to each muster 150,000 men to fight against the Dark Lord's rising threat was no small thing, but I could not imagine that he had expected much less. None of the Powers would accept that his intentions were peaceful after his blatant disregard for the treaties that were supposed to insulate him.

"I have sent word to our allies in Bulgaria and Scandinavia. Igor Karkaroff is mobilizing his men," Lucius continued feebly. I highly doubted that anything would mitigate the Dark Lord's displeasure at finding that most of Europe opposed him.

The Dark Lord dismissed Lucius with a wave of his heavily ringed hand. "Snape, attend me," he barked, stalking off the dais into a dimly lit side chamber, set aside for receiving the regimens of potions I brewed and poured by the caldron down his malodorous throat.

The Dark Lord instantly noticed the change in my attitude at Auxerre. Malfoy had cemented himself in the coveted position of Voldemort's right hand by virtue of his massive fortune and abundant French connections. By the time we reached Paris I had, however, reclaimed some of my former status and was further elevated when I began to drop hints that, through a careful regimen of potions, the Dark Lord could have what he desired above all else: immortality.

I walked a dangerous line now. The Dark Lord was hiding his attempts to gain a kind of life that would surpass his subjects. I was concocting more lies with every passing hour, demanding new and increasingly hard to procure ingredients I claimed to need to craft complex potions. The Dark Lord had already sent an underling, Quirinus Quirrell, to secure a unicorn and prepare it to be sacrificed for him.

I passed a small vial to the Dark Lord and watched with bated breath as he downed the potion. This elixir contained both a stimulant and a low level addictive, the first to provide him with the illusion of power, and the second to bind him to my skills. It would not be long before I could hope to introduce new effects to his system.

He made a face; his eyes seeming to glow slightly crimson in the candlelight. "This tastes worse than the last." His tone was surprisingly plaintive.

"All things worth possessing come with a price," I murmured in as comforting a manner as I could muster. "Until I have amassed the appropriate ingredients, the progress will be slow, your Lordship."

* * *

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & punctuation on April 8th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who thinks that poor little Voldykins needs some sugar in his potions]._

_And an obligation to orlandoswitch [who knows Voldemort's allies]._


	43. Sunset

**Sunset**

**France, Paris, Tuileries Palace**

**March 30****th****, 1815**

* * *

The scratch of my quill across the parchment echoed in the dark laboratory. I was adding to what had begun as a carefully worded note.

_From my perspective, the Dark Lord faces innumerable odds._

I dipped my quill and regarded my letter. The Dark Lord's political position was weak, and many compromises were being made to attempt to bolster his stability. This did nothing for his ego or temper. Lucius had recommended that several members of the old nobility be nominated to positions of power in order to receive financial support. Admitting to weakness was something His Lordship had never been able to do, and I suspected that his apparent blindness to the political stirring of the greater world would be his downfall. Many among those elevated by positions and titles had betrayed him in the first war. I supposed I might even be classified among the traitors, kept alive and close only by my usefulness. The Knights of Walpurgis were no longer unified, and much trust had been lost in Voldemort's first failure.

_I beg you, stand firm in your convictions._

I bit my lip and with a tap of my wand, I set the parchment on fire, watching it burn to ash grimly. In a moment of extreme weakness I had composed a letter to Draco. As soon as I lifted my quill to sign it, I was overcome with the stupidity of my own actions. Owls could be detained, floo calls could be overheard, and I was a fool if I thought I could contact Draco without someone finding out. From the instant Lucius gleefully confided that he had sent word to his son, demanding that Draco take up the cloak and torch of the Dark Lord, I felt the noose tighten on my own throat.

It was common knowledge in the new royal court the Dark Lord had begun collecting at the palace that only one hundred of the seven hundred and thirty députées of the chamber of representatives were proclaiming loyalty to him. Rebellion ruled in many parts of France already, and uprisings were breaking out. I considered the days we had left before some sort of bloody purge would begin. It would be the Revolution of 1789 all over again, only this time the Dark Lord would instigate it, rather than simply benefiting from it. Another guillotine would be erected in the public square, _Place Louis XV, _and a new Reign of Terror would begin.

I brushed the ashes of the letter off the desk and closed my eyes, rubbing my hand over my forehead.

How much blood would Paris see before the end?

Standing, I crossed to the cauldrons laid out over the tables. They contained the elixirs promised to His Lordship, both for his immortality and for interrogation and punishment. Veritaserum, taking one lunar phase to complete, was chief among the required brews. I checked them vigilantly; there was no margin for error.

* * *

_Edited for grammar, capitalization & punctuation on April 11th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who feels the heavy weight]._

_And an ode to orlandoswitch [who writes letters to Draco]._


	44. Cornered

**Cornered**

**April 13****th****, 1815**

* * *

"I thought you would have written to Draco by now." Lucius's tone might have been innocuous, but his sharp eyes scanned my workstation with more than passing interest.

I smiled slightly, a curl of the corners of my mouth. I wiped the blade of my silver knife on a soft cloth and began dicing the Skeever Tail with deliberate concentration.

Nothing disarmed Lucius more than being ignored. He gave no outward sign that he was affected, except the knuckles of his right hand turned white as they tightened around his cane.

"How do you know that I haven't written?" Beginning on the next ingredient, I crushed each Jazbay Grape between the flat of the blade and work surface.

Lucius came forward to look over the ingredients. He reached out with one manicured hand and turned over a brilliant purple flower. "I am sure you haven't."

I reached over and tapped his hand. "Mustn't touch. Nightshade releases a toxin that causes delirium and hallucinations," I said in my best snide professor voice.

Lucius narrowed his eyes at me and surreptitiously wiped his hand on his robes.

I laid my knife down before drawing myself up to my full height and tucking my hands in my sleeves. "If you have another message for him, Lucius, I suggest you write him another letter of your own. I am sure whatever you have to say is worth more than a postscript in any inconsequential note I might write."

Lucius mouth was a firm, thin line. "Indeed," he murmured.

He turned to go with a dramatic flourish, and I called him back to hand him a vial. "Lucius, please just run this up to His Lordship. He is expecting it." I hid a triumphant smirk as Lucius accepted the task and left my laboratory on my errand.

It was a small victory and one that I would likely pay for in the future, but I was pleased with scoring a small triumph on the pretentious and flamboyant imbecile. After an unfortunately rough beginning of my sojourn in France, I felt that I was beginning to regain my footing. Baiting Lucius was only a portion of my amusements. Attempting to invent reasons to leave Tuileries Palace also occupied a large portion of my time. I knew that English spies had already infiltrated Paris, creeping along the edges of the Emperor's tenuous hold on his capital city. Paris was ancient, and many sections were maze-like in complexity. A man who knew how to travel could cross the city in less than a day without having to come fully into the light once. I had seen the tattered wolf's head flag hung from a window on the Rue du Bout du Monde near Les Halles, our agreed signal that Remus had managed, by some miracle, to hide himself away in the 5th arrondissement and was waiting for me to send some word. I feared that we might be required to wait the Dark Lord out in tense stillness.

* * *

_Ten points to whoever can understand my Elder Scrolls potions._

_Most of my notes on Paris and specifically the Rue du Bout du Monde come from Victor Hugo's description of his experience at the June Rebellion Barricades… admittedly that happened in 1832, but I will take my __Les Misérables__ reference unashamedly, if you please._

_Edited for grammar, spelling, capitalization & punctuation on April 14th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who is appreciated]. Thank you for working so hard on this story with me even when real life gets crazy!_

_And an opode to orlandoswitch [who wants Snape to seriously stop whining]._

_A great debt of gratitude to a French reader: emmaD who reminded me (April 18th, 2013) that "there wasn't a 18th arrondissement in Paris in 1815. Until 1860, there were only 12 arrondissements and Paris was a much smaller city. There was even a saying about people being "married in the 13th arrondissement" which meant people living together without being married at all... What is now the 18th arrondissement was then two distinct villages: Montmartre and La Chapelle." Thank you very much for helping me make this story the best it can be! This edit is shamefully overdue: August 20th, 2013.  
_


	45. Tension

**Tension**

**April 2****nd****, 1815**

* * *

I had managed to find my way through the mines and catacombs to an extremely dark and secluded section. I had the unfortunate and time consuming experience of having to evade several pursuers sent by the disgustingly thorough Lord Malfoy. The Dark Lord may have accepted my claims and the parading of my memories of loyalty through painfully invasive legilimency but it was clear that Lucius had reservations. With a wry smile, I turned another corner. His instincts were true, even if his methods left something to be desired.

I mentally retraced the twists and turns I had passed through in the underbelly of Paris, finding myself very near my goal. I paused to listen for the telltale shuffle of my appointment approaching. Dipping into an alcove I drew out a small green silk handkerchief and with a quick tap of my wand, the green bled away like cheap dye, revealing a crimson cloth with a shaggy wolf's head embroidered on it. As my confederate passed, I extended my hand, white in the gloom.

"Yours, sir?"

Knowing brown eyes regarded me from underneath dirty blond hair. "I have one of my own, thank you," he answered, and from some inner pocket he drew a twin piece of cloth.

"Hunger drives?" I murmured.

"The wolf out of the wood."

We kept our voices quiet even as we cast a series of muffling and notice-me-not charms. Remus removed his glamour before tucking his wand away.

"I see his Lordship hasn't killed you yet." He had the audacity to grin and pat me on the back.

I glowered, "Don't worry. He's getting to it."

We stood close, our heads lowered. Part of me reviled allowing someone the liberty of getting so close to my person, yet I quietly rejoiced in the presence of an ally.

"You have a way to get us into Tuileries Palace?" Remus began to question me immediately.

I shook my head, my dark hair swinging. "His Lordship is planning his campaigns in retaliation towards the Congress of Vienna; you would have a better chance on the battlefield."

Remus huffed in annoyance.

"We are all biding our time, Lupin; it's not a personal affront to your timetable."

"Harry is receiving desperate letters from Lady Potter almost daily."

"You expect me to be sorry? He is a man; coddling him won't help England or your mission," I sneered. I had hoped that Lady Potter would come to accept her son's new role in these developing politics, but it was obvious that her attitude had not improved.

"Albus demands updates on you almost as often," Remus said, with a certain amount of glee.

I ground my teeth, "I hope you told that blighter where he could shove his questions."

Remus smiled, shaking his head. Sighing, he dug in his vest again, withdrawing a small, stoppered glass. Remus passed me the vial. "The blood you asked for." The werewolf blood was dark and viscous. "Will that be enough?"

"It is enough for now."

* * *

_Ten points to whoever can catch my Van Helsing (2011 film) reference. _

_Edited for grammar, spelling, capitalization & punctuation on April 18th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who is lurking in the catacombs]. _

_And a sonnet to orlandoswitch [who should enjoy the cloak & dagger, yes?]._

_A thank you to reviewer Dena Gray for unwittingly providing the prompt for this chapter._


	46. Repose

**Repose**

**May 10****th****, 1815**

* * *

_Hermione motioned for me to sit beside her under the shade of the fruit tree arbor. The scent of sweet herbs hung heavy in the air. My eyes were drawn to where her dress was pulled tightly across her stomach, showing a gentle swell. She smiled and motioned downward. "Its rather obvious now, isn't it?" _

_I swallowed. _

_"What season is this at Paix Manor?" She mercifully changed the subject._

_"Late summer, before harvest." I had only been in this garden in the late summer once, two years before when I arranged for Paix Manor as a safe house. Many things may have changed in those two years, but the garden was just as I remembered, well ordered and thriving._

_She reached out for me, her hand gently grasping my shoulder and urging me closer. Sighing in contentment, she laid her head on my shoulder. "I cannot wait to see the garden in real life." _

_I hummed, gathering her against me and burying my face in her hair. She seemed content to rest against me. A crunching on the path brought my head up to stare at my godson escorting his mother through the arbor on the lane that led to the formal gardens._

_"Draco, Narcissa? What the devil are you doing in my dream?" I grumbled, eyeing the two Malfoys sporting identical smirks. _

_"Don't look at us, Severus dear; Mrs. Snape invited us." Narcissa continued walking, dragging a leering Draco behind her. He waggled his eyebrows at me as they disappeared around the corner of the hedge. _

_I glared; grumbling, I resumed my attentions towards my wife. Gathering my courage, I spread a hand over her stomach, molding it against the curve. She began to hum a lullaby softly. _

_"It is sometimes hard to believe that I will be a mother in five short months."_

_Her hand gently tangled in my hair and her fingertips applied tender pressure against my scalp._

_I lost myself in a pleasant daydream about coming home to a wife and children, before my memory began supplying images of my father's treatment of my mother, and I, with my face substituted for his. The arbor trees seemed to shiver and waver._

_"Whatever you are thinking of, stop. You will disrupt the dream." Her words were gentle but authoritative. "You are here to rest."_

_I stood, turning to help Hermione up. We began walking toward the kitchen garden at a leisurely pace._

_"You look much better than the last time we spoke," she observed softly._

_I smiled and plucked a leaf from the lemon balm; rolling it between my fingers, I was suffused with the sweet citrus aroma. "I am better. I am making some progress in my endeavors."_

_She squeezed my hand gently, deftly changing the subject as we circled the topic of pregnancy. "If it's a boy, I am thinking Pertinax or Septimus, for a girl, Persephone or Diana." _

_I snorted, "Just because we have outlandish names doesn't mean our children must suffer." _

_Hermione giggled._

* * *

_"Already, you are mine. Rest with your dream inside my dream._  
_Love, grief, labor, must sleep now." – Pablo Neruda, Sonnet LXXXI_

___Edited for grammar, spelling, capitalization & punctuation on April 19th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who is invited into the garden of dreams]. _


	47. Mad

**Mad**

**Late May, 1815**

* * *

_Dear One,_

_I will burn this letter as I have the others, composed in hiding, when I cannot sleep for the weight of the world seems all together overwhelming. It gives me precious little consolation, but I take what I can. The noose tightens around us at Paris, ever closer. _

_His Lordship's health begins to deteriorate, due in no small part to the liquids he chooses to imbibe. Another more pressing and complex malaise now plagues him, an infirmity of the mind. His demands have begun to shake even his most ardent followers' faith in him. He has fashioned himself as some pantomime of a Caesar returning triumphant to Rome. The weight of his dinner table alone is costing his citizens dearly. Those who do not immediately and enthusiastically agree with his methods or desires find themselves very soon at the mercy of Unforgivables and subjected to Veritaserum laced questionings. His temper grows more vindictive by the day as he discovers the spark of excitement and worshipful loyalty that met him as he marched triumphantly into Paris has cooled to ashes. Though Lazare Carnot, the former deputy to the convention, flew to his side, pubic opinion has waned. He has been forced to make more allowances and concessions to the people in his rewritten constitution. This irks him severely. _

_All great events hang by a single thread, and I intend to be the one who severs his designs._

_He has moved six corps out of Paris, keeping the Imperial Guard by his side led by Edouard Walden Mortier, the Marshal of France from the Dark Lord's first reign. His taste for death is legendary. The Dark Lord seeks to meet his adversaries one at a time in the hope to use his smaller army well. I will gather my closest allies and pursue him into battle. During the heat of the fight, when he –_

The rest of the line trailed off as a knock on the door to the laboratory sent the quill skittering out of my hands. After a few seconds, the charmed paper flared quietly and burned silently with brilliant green flames. As I opened the door, all that was left was a thin layer of gray dust so fine that the movement of air from across the room caused it to go swirling over the edge of the writing table.

"Lucius?"

The man on the other side of the door was panting, perspiration running down the side of his normally collected face. "His Lordship… needs…"

I smirked, leaning against the door frame. "Take your time."

"Veritaserum," he managed to gasp out, bending forward to rest his hands on his knees.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "At two o'clock in the morning?"

"The Carrows provided unsatisfactory reports and need to be questioned." The burning light of apprehension in his eyes betrayed his unease with the Dark Lord's violent demands.

"I'll gather my supplies." I shut the door on his pale face with a bang.

* * *

_I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,  
in secret, between the shadow and the soul. – Pablo Neruda, Sonnet XVII_

_One of the lines in the letter is part of a quote by Napoleon as follows:  
All great events hang by a single thread. The clever man takes advantage of everything, neglects nothing that may give him some added opportunity; the less clever man, by neglecting one thing, sometimes misses everything._

_A thinly veiled Walden Macnair from canon masquerades as Édouard Adolphe Casimir Joseph Mortier, a French General and the Marshal of France under Napoleon I._

_____Edited for grammar, spelling, capitalization & punctuation on April 21st, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who had a moment of panic for our dear Severus].  
_


	48. Flaw

**Flaw**

**Early June, 1815**

* * *

The boy was strangely subdued, slouching in his seat. He wouldn't meet my eyes, looking quickly and then sending his gaze skittering away over the dingy wooden table and piles of damp straw and abandoned rags. In the dim light of the catacombs, he looked greatly diminished.

Remus broke the heavy silence, drawing my attention away from Harry Potter's pale face. "What is the plan, Severus?" He, too, looked exhausted; the dark circles under his eyes echoed my own.

"You will both accompany me onto the battle field as my… servants." I tasted the word with glee; how sweet it was.

The Potter boy shifted with nervous energy. "Why can't we just deal with him in Tuileries Palace?"

Ah, the crux: he was impatient. I sneered, "Anxious to get home to your mummy?" I favored him with a sharp glare, resentful of his presence.

He flushed and wiped his hand through his wild, dark hair.

Remus coughed, "How will you get us into the entourage?"

"Leave that…to me." I stood, having wasted enough time in the inanities of this pointless meeting. It actually reminded me a little of the insufferable staff meetings Albus forced me through at Hogwarts College.

Remus followed me to the doorway, leaving a sullen Potter at the table, staring morosely into the flickering candle flame. "He isn't so bad, if you would stop baiting him."

I shook my head, "Remus, you have the fortunate flaw of looking for the good in everyone. It is forgivable, if somewhat annoying. I suffer from the opposing malady."

"The tenacious desire to believe the worst about everybody," he managed a small smile.

I pursed my lips. "Quite."

He stood next to me, shifting his stance and running a dirty hand down the buttons on his coat.

"Well?"

"You haven't yet shared our object."

I grimaced. "If it were up to me…" I found that I couldn't even force the traitorous wish for the Dark Lord's death from my lips. "There is an island, St. Helena, ready to receive him. But I will leave that to you and your generals. I have no more designs on the position of honor." I had everything I desired already; unfortunately, she resided at Spinner's End, a world away.

"Wellington wants him in chains."

"Then bring chains."

Remus licked his lips, "You haven't asked about the movements of the troops or the strength of the armies opposing you."

I reached out with one hand and gently closed it around his neck. "Do you feel the vice, Lupin? Do you? Our plans could yet go sideways. The less I know about the Light the better. If I am subjected to torture, the less I know about your plans the better. Indeed, it is a mercy that I don't understand that I have not been subject to more persecution."

Remus nodded sadly. "I had hoped that things would be different after, well, after the first war."

"Peace has always been as illusive as a shadow."

* * *

_We are almost there gentle reader. I just renewed my library books and have given myself four weeks to finish this little story. We will round out at sixty chapters and then I will address The Dream. Once both are finished this story may receive a few more chapters about their life after the war. Your suggestions and comments are always appreciated. _

_Edited for grammar, spelling, capitalization, punctuation & independent clauses on April 23th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who is excited to be on the home stretch with me]. _

_And a nod and smile to orlandoswitch [for whom I hope Severus behaves]._


	49. Simple

**Simple**

**June 16****th****, 1815**

* * *

We had crossed the Sambre river near Charleroi only yesterday, setting up outposts and securing the central position between the Duke of Wellington's Anglo-Dutch army in the north-west and General Blücher's Prussian Army to the north-east. We suffered at Ligny this afternoon but had succeeded in driving a wedge between the two armies, and the Prussians had retreated from Saint-Amand-le-Haye. The Dark Lord was much bolstered by his victory, while I was praying it was his last.

I lay in my tent, listening to the rain and Remus's deep breaths, praying for a few hours of sleep before we intended to engage Wellington's armies.

_"Severus!" Hermione jumped up from her seat by the window. We were inside Paix Manor; it was raining heavily and water ran in torrents down the glass. _

_I crossed the room in three strides and embraced her. _

_"What's wrong?" she asked frantically against my waistcoat._

_"In just a few hours, everything… I…" I found coherent speech was beyond me at the moment when I needed it most._

_She caressed my shoulders and twined her arms around my neck. "Tell me," she gently insisted. _

_"It is not so simple. I may not emerge from this battle," I murmured into her slender neck._

_She pulled back to study my wretched face. "Oh, Severus."_

_I took a deep breath._

_"Draco received his father's missive." She shifted the conversation effortlessly. "He refused it unequivocally." _

_"And you?"_

_"I am in excellent health." She drew me to the window seat and settled me in the cushioned corner. "Sadly, we had to send Ginny home when we came to Paix Manor."  
"Miss Weasley?" She sat between my legs, her back against my chest._

_"The same. Is it raining where you are?" _

_I looked out over the gardens that were quickly flooding. "Yes."_

_"I love the garden; it's just like you showed me."_

_My hands found the growing swell of her stomach like an anchor. The water was still rising and had reached the windowsill; little rivulets were beginning to seep into the cracks around the glass. She reached out with one hand and touched each breach, stopping them._

_"I wish you wouldn't," she whispered. I was unsure what she spoke of, the battle or the rain._

_"I like Septimus and Diana," I murmured into her ear._

_She burst into tears. "Thank you. I still pray that you will be home to name your child yourself."_

_I rocked her gently, watching as the glass began to bow and crack under the weight of the rising water. Curiously, I was no longer afraid._

_"I love you."_

I woke, sputtering slightly, discovering that my tent had sprung a leak directly over my head and was dripping water on my face. Potter sat on the opposite side of the small space, eyeing me malevolently. I suspected the seepage was his doing, the little bastard.

I sat up and wiped off my face, curiously more refreshed than I had been in months. Today was the day of reckoning.

* * *

_Edited for grammar, spelling, capitalization & punctuation on April 24th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who is near giddy]. _

_A twirl for orlandoswitch whose thoughtful comments on this chapter have been shuffled over to The Dream's folder. _

_Gentle Reader, if you have an opinion on the names of the children please let me know in your review. __"If it's a boy, I am thinking Pertinax or Septimus, for a girl, Persephone or Diana." _


	50. Interlude

**Interlude**

**Quatre-Bras, France**

**June 17****th****, 1815**

* * *

"I know that you are preparing to fight,"* the Dark Lord pointed his wand at his throat, amplifying his voice over the opposing Anglo-Dutch army that was gathered slightly north of our position. "Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you."*

There was a shifting through the allied camp. A murmur. A whisper.

"Join me and be spared."

Tense minutes passed but no movement could be observed. Lupin, standing behind me near the opening of the tent, murmured something to Potter in a low voice.

I distracted myself slightly from the building tension by running my hand over the vials stowed in their wooden case. Unicorn blood. Werewolf blood. Spriggan sap. I reviewed the mental recipe for one of the final potions I would administer to the Dark Lord that very evening. Soon the carefully constructed chemical response that I had nurtured would bend to my will.

Peter Pettigrew skittered to Voldemort's side, vibrating with excitement. His rat-like face scrunched up as he spoke with great animation. Lucius, standing at his right hand looked first surprised, then slightly appalled. He quickly smoothed his expression into one of polite interest. I was not close enough to hear what was said, but when the Dark Lord lifted his gaze to regard me, I felt the prickle of foreboding.

Then the Dark Lord was striding towards me, robes flapping around his short body. "Snape."

Lupin and Potter wisely withdrew deeper into the dim interior of the tent.

"Your Lordship." I bowed and straightened slowly, attempting to infuse as much deference and respect into my posture as possible.

The Dark Lord's eyes glinted crimson, a side effect of my prescribed regimen. "It has come to my attention that Wellington brought the Elder Wand from England."

I searched his face, striving to keep my own blank. "Sir?"

The Dark Lord repeated himself condescendingly and then continued, "You are to go and retrieve it for me."

I blinked slowly. "I… Of course, your Lordship."

He turned away and started across the camp, flanked by Malfoy and Greyback.

I stood for a moment, floundering. Remus quietly emerged from the tent to stand at my side. "I will take you into the camp," he whispered.

I turned to stare mutely into his horrified eyes. Turning away abruptly, I retreated into the tent to gather my things before I struck out on my deadly quest. This was it; this was going to be the end.

"Take this."

I found a length of cloth thrust into my hand. "What the devil is this?"

Potter refused to meet my eyes. "It's an invisibility cloak."

I searched his face, surprised and suspicious. He fidgeted slightly.

Remus's hand came to rest on the top of the folded cloth. "I'll vouch for the boy; it is what he says. Let's not waste time."

I nodded tersely, seizing the soft fabric in a firm grip and turning to drag the disguised colonel out of the tent behind me.

* * *

_Dialogue marked with an (*) are from the chapter entitled The Battle of Hogwarts in the book __Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows__._

_Edited for grammar, spelling, capitalization & punctuation on April 27th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who encourages me]. _

_Gentle Reader, the next three chapters are the hardest things I have ever had to write. I loathe climaxes. Please be patient with me._


	51. Subterfuge

**Subterfuge**

**France, Crossroads at the Ohain Road**

**June 17th, 1815**

* * *

_Kerthunk!_

I stared down at the prone form of Albus Dumbledore, half in horror and half in malicious glee. Looking up, I met the triumphant gaze of Remus.

He grinned widely. "Sorry old man, I know you wanted to do the honors. Next time." He had the audacity to wink.

I choked down a sudden rush of mirth as I flicked my wand over Dumbledore, binding and gagging his unconscious form.

Remus returned the heavy, ceramic chamber pot to its former resting place, nodding in satisfaction.

I had been unprepared to see Dumbledore here in France. Upon further reflection, however, I recognized that there were precious few other wizards who would have been trusted with England's treasure: the Elder Wand.

I crossed to the case that held the wand and began methodically disabling the wards that protected it. It was a small comfort that my years of unfortunate familiarity with Albus aided me. I knew all of his favorite spells. The case's lock clicked open and I lifted the wand with two fingers, expecting it to somehow leap out of my hands and attack me.

"Let's go," Remus tugged on my arm, the invisibility cloak over his other arm. With a final look at Albus, I followed Remus back into the stormy night.

We slipped through the darkness, uneventfully crossing the battle lines. Returning to the encampment, I left Remus with Potter in my tent while I continued through the camp. I carried the wand and my box of potions; every step was more difficult than the last.

The Dark Lord waited for me in his palace-like tent, his new pet coiled in the poles. I eyed the large snake warily, running my fingers over the vial of anti-venom in my inner pocket. The thing's name was Nagini, a gift from Antonin Dolohov, who had brought her from Albania. I despised it unequivocally and was assured that the feeling was mutual.

"My Lord."

"Ah, Severus, my faithful servant."

"My Lord. As you requested." I extended the wand.

He took it gleefully, giving it an experimental flick to watch the small flare of sparks.

I turned away, opening the box and drawing out three elixirs, the final potions. I kept Nagini always in the corner of my eye.

"With this wand I will do great things, astonishing feats of magic and extraordinary displays of power!" The Dark Lord chortled manically. "It promises wonders to those who weald it."

Or perhaps wonders to those _it_ wealds.

"I am glad you succeeded, Severus; I would have hated to have to repay all your years of loyalty with a final punishment." He motioned to Nagini and took the first vial from my hands.

I felt cold and knew that whatever color I may have had in my cheeks had long since faded. I watched as my master drank his own undoing to the cadence of the heavy rain on the tent roof.

"I am relieved to have pleased you, my Dark Emperor," I managed to return softly.

* * *

_"My moste wicked and subtle friend, with bodie of Ellhorn, who knowes ways of magick moste evile." —An entry on Godelot's notebook regarding the Elder Wand._

_Edited for grammar, spelling, capitalization, punctuation & delusions of grandeur on April 30th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who took welcome liberties]. _


	52. Campaign

**Campaign**

**France, near Beaumont & at La Belle Alliance Inn**

**June 18****th****, 1815**

* * *

It rained continuously through the night and the inevitable confrontation had been delayed several hours while we tensely waited for the battlefield to dry. Lord Voldemort had sent word to the right wing of the Army of the North, ordering the harassment of the Prussians in an attempt to stop them from reforming. However, the Northern Army didn't begin moving until two hours later, at eight o'clock.

Minutes were quickly ticking by and being lost as we breakfasted in ease. The Dark Lord licked his silver knife clean and stabbed another sausage off his silver plate.

"My Lord, perhaps the Army of the North should be recalled," Lucius began carefully.

Voldemort dabbed the silk napkin to greyish lips. "Whatever for?"

Lucius met my eyes over the breakfast table. I sneered silently. Hell itself would freeze before the Dark Lord admitted that perhaps he was incorrect about how this battle would play out.

"Just because you have all been beaten by Wellington, you think he's a good general. I tell you, Wellington is a bad general, the English are bad troops, and this affair is nothing more than eating breakfast,"* the Dark Lord continued, dismissively.

I hoped that he was incorrect.

Rousing, the army took up position on the southern ridge, but from our position it was impossible to see Wellington's position. The I Corps took up formation on the right while the II Corps arrayed to the left. I attempted, as much as possible, to stay out of the sight of the Dark Lord and his tightly gathered confidants, Malfoy and Greyback. By noon the cannons could be heard from Waterloo, and Voldemort had moved his command post from Rossomme farm, from which he could see the entire battlefield, to La Belle Alliance Inn. He had to receive delegation from the battlefield from Ney-Lestrange.

Lupin and Potter accompanied me to the inn where I would administer his Lordship's afternoon potions. I weighed my _servants_ down with the cases of vials that disguised the enchanted chains that would ultimately bind the Dark Lord to the Allied Forces.

Thorfinn Rowle stopped me at the door to the inn.

"Playing gatekeeper now?" I mocked.

He bared his teeth. "Watch your mouth, Snape. What have you got here?"

"Potions for his Lordship. Better let me pass." I was not above stunning him if he resisted but better to hope for his cooperation.

Rowle's gaze settled on the men behind me and Potter fidgeted under the glamour and looked about, ready to start attempting something stupid when Malfoy called from inside, "Don't be a fool and keep the Emperor waiting."

Bless the bastard.

I climbed the stairs slowly, quietly dreading the unavoidable conflict ahead of us. We took up our places in the inner room. I freed the chains from the hidden compartments and lay them out. Nagini unwound herself from one of the ceiling beams, suspicious.

I took great pleasure in eviscerating her. Nothing could have been worse than to get so close to our goal, only to die from a snakebite.

* * *

_*A quote attributed to Napoleon himself at breakfast on June 18th._

_Edited for grammar, spelling, capitalization & punctuation on May 8th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who looks out for Lupin and Potter]._

_Just wanted to apologize to all my lovely reviewers for taking so long to acknowledge your wonderful reviews. Thank you and I am so ashamed. _


	53. Elder

**Elder**

**France, La Belle Alliance Inn**

**June 18****th****, 1815**

* * *

Voldemort came stumbling up the stairs, so pale he looked completely grey, eyes gleaming a sickly red as he regarded me.

"Snape. What is happening to me? The Elder Wand…" He was cut off by a fit of coughing.

"My Lord, there can be no question, surely—?"*

He recovered slightly, leaning on the wall, "—but there is a question, Severus. There is."*

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the two shimmers in opposite corners, denoting the disillusioned Potter and Lupin. I could hear two people climbing the stairs behind the Dark Lord.

"Has it taken you this long to realize it, my Lord?" I murmured mockingly. It was almost a pleasure to see his body finally succumb to my potions and poisons.

With a shuddering breath, the Dark Lord drew the Elder Wand, but I was quicker, and in his weakened state he could not match me.

"Expelliarmus," I shrieked and caught the Elder Wand in one hand.

I watched as Potter dropped his charm and sent the chains flying through the air. They caught the Dark Lord in the chest, wrapping themselves around his torso. He staggered and fell under their weight. Greyback and Malfoy burst into the room, just as Lupin threw the other set of chains around Voldemort's thighs.

The room erupted into utter chaos within a moment.

Malfoy attacked Potter viciously, and Potter barely got his shield spell up in time. Lupin was not so lucky, as the werewolf hit him with the full force of his body. He staggered, facing away from the attack as he struggled to aim his wand behind him. Lupin's scream was horrific as Greyback used his teeth to rip into his back.

"Sectumsempra," I hissed, my lips pulled tightly over my teeth. Greyback went down on top of Lupin, keening, wounds opening like scarlet scrollwork over his back.

Potter hit Malfoy with a nonfatal defensive spell that knocked him backward, but Malfoy's head caught the edge of a thick wooden table with a sickening crack and he moved no longer.

Lupin shrugged the werewolf off of his back and staggered to his knees. The fight was over almost as quickly as it had begun. I was out of breath and vibrating with rage. It took a few moments to clear my vision and actually process what I could see of the inside of the former Dark Lord's personal room.

The body of my former master was bound tightly in chains and obviously unconscious, I observed dispassionately.

Potter was bleeding from a ragged gash on his forehead. A shaking and wounded Lupin was kneeling next to a very dead Frenrir Greyback and Lucius Malfoy lay in a heap in the rubble of the ruined table. We all exchanged rather stunned looks before Lupin collapsed himself.

After casting stabilizing spells over the colonel, I forced Potter to send his patronus to Dumbledore and stand guard over the room while I slipped away.

* * *

_*Quotes from Chapter Thirty-Two of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: The Elder Wand._

_Edited for grammar, spelling, capitalization & punctuation on May 8th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who excited to witness the defeat of the Dark Lord]._


	54. Restore

**Restore**

**France, Healer's Tents Near Mon-Saint-Jean**

**June 19****th****, 1815**

* * *

I snuck through the Healer's Camp, feeling ill and angered by turns. I had been much removed from the battlefield, but the sight of it was a thing too horrible to behold. I had retched trying to observe the multitude of mangled carcasses of wounded and dead men. Many were unable to move, and the stench of death hung heavy over the scene. I had no doubt that the healers could not work fast enough to keep from dying those who were losing copious amounts of blood and fighting dark curses. The wounded, both of the Allies and the French, were equally appalling. I had come for a single purpose, however. Stopping at the correct tent, I took a deep breath before entering.

Remus lay on his stomach on a cot, his torn back covered in gauze and smelling of potions.

He nodded to me as I entered, his lips twisting into a tight smile. "Curious thing: I've always liked wolves you know; it's been my insignia."

"You never shied away from werewolves, either," I said, thinking of the vial of werewolf's blood he had secured for me after Grayback had refused me.

He coughed a little, "Amusing, that."

"Well…" I didn't know how to offer comfort for this.

"Dumbledore is furious with you, of course."

It was a novel experience to realize that I had not plumbed the depths of the annoyance I could cause the old man. Pity that Lupin was a casualty. I realized suddenly that I did care that he had been so irrevocably wounded. Nevertheless, in the end, the Dark Lord had been more tightly resolved than I had any right to expect or even hope.

"He ought to be furious with you. After all, you physically assaulted him." I smiled and then suddenly began to laugh, reliving the sight of Albus crumpling under the weight of the chamber pot. At least I had returned the Elder Wand.

Remus smiled, too. "That's the first time I've ever heard you laugh, you know."

"There hasn't been much to laugh about."

"There is talk of you gaining a title or knighthood—"

"Utter rubbish, I'm sure."

"An Order of Merlin?"

I made a face. "Lupin," I began, no good at grand gestures. He nodded at me to continue. "When you get back to England, feel free to come see me. I er… well, I owe you a debt and will provide you with wolfsbane." I turned away.

"Thank you, Severus." He said quietly.

I stood and walked to the opening of the tent. "Cover for me as long as you can."

He chuckled, "What's so important that you can't remain by my sick bed?"

"Besides Dumbledore threatening to make me help return Louis to the throne? I'm recently married, Remus." His sharp intake of breath had me sneering. "Don't act so surprised, Lupin."

"I'm not," he said quietly. "I'm pleased."

"Keep your pleasure to yourself."

"Go. I'll hold Albus off for as long as I can."

I left without a backward glance.

* * *

_Edited for grammar, spelling, capitalization, punctuation & death by starving on May 8th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who had been unfailingly patient]._


	55. Haste

**Haste**

**England**

**June 23****rd****, 1815**

* * *

The last week had been hell. Exhausted, I had been unable to Apparate more than short distances at a time, barely sleeping, hardly eating and terribly anxious. Would my wife welcome me home? I hardly knew what to expect. I longed for the Hermione I had come to know in my dreams: accepting, affectionate, and comforting.

I stood now on the steps of Spinner's End, looking at the house that had obviously been shut up for some time. I staggered slightly, catching myself with one hand on the balustrade. She had left me. The pain was unspeakably intense.

The crack of an apparition made me turn to see Draco striding through the wards. He lifted one hand in greeting, a smile lighting his face. Once he had a good look at me, however, the smile faltered and he took the steps two at a time.

"Merlin, have you slept?"

I leaned heavily on him, "Where is she?"

His brow furrowed and his cool grey eyes searched my face. "Paix, of course. Come, we will side along. You look exhausted."

I was exhausted and filthy, in rumpled unwashed clothing that I hadn't even bothered to attempt to charm clean. Draco hauled me down the stairs bodily, casting nonverbal cleansing and refreshing spells as we headed for the Apparition point.

He turned me into the apparition and with a soft crack we were sucked through the void. I stumbled as we landed, falling to my knees. Draco hovered at my elbow, concerned.

I was on the little lawn in front of Paix Manor, and from my position I could see the door inside the portico open and two figures hurry out.

Hermione ran towards me, head uncovered and skirts flapping. She almost fell on me in her haste to embrace me. She was crying, I realized, as she pressed a damp cheek to mine.

"Oh, Severus, you're home."

Over her shoulder I caught sight of the second figure, Narcissa Malfoy. She stood next to her son, the softest look I had ever witnessed on her usually cold face.

I moved to get up, and Draco took one of my arms while Hermione clung to the other.

"What is the matter? Are you hurt?"

I shook my head slowly and stumbled again.

"Exhausted, I would wager, and magically depleted," Draco murmured over my left shoulder.

I swallowed thickly, "Hermione…"

She turned to look up at me, smiling. "You will soon feel better."

I blinked and stared down at my small wife, whose gently rounded stomach protruded just as I remembered. She placed a protective hand over it and beamed. Suddenly, though my mental faculties were clouded and I could barely speak, the dreams made complete sense.

Draco was easing me through the doorway and into the hall. I heard Narcissa as though from a great distance, directing servants.

I smiled and pulled my wife close to me, my face buried in her hair. "Hermione," I whispered.

I was finally, truly home at last.

* * *

_Edited for grammar, spelling, capitalization, & punctuation on April 30th, 2013 [courtesy of renaid, who loves our stop-over-ending]._

_So this story will now be marked as complete. I will be working on The Dream (its companion) which is currently outlined at over sixty chapters. Once that is finished I will be adding more of an epilogue to this little tale. If you have any ideas feel free to share them with me.  
_

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed, read, and favorite-d this story. I am so glad you have enjoyed yourselves. A special thank you to those of you who have offered ideas, criticisms and corrections._


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